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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28279593">put down your roots; tell the world it’s cord clutter</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boomkin/pseuds/Boomkin'>Boomkin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>PJLJ [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>British Actor RPF, The Witcher (TV) RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>All the Dresses, Allusions to Mental Health, Anal Play, Blackout Drunk Joey Batey, Blow Jobs, Bored and Horny in Quarantine, Butt Plugs, Christmas, Come Eating, Come Marking, Come Shot, Domesticity, Dress Up, Dresses, Family Issues, Feminine Undergarments, Flirting, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Hangover, Insecurity, Introspection, Jealous Henry Cavill, Lockdown 2.0, Madeleine is the Tree, Makeup-Wearing Joey Batey, Multi, POV Third Person Limited, References to Trees, Rimming, Self-Esteem Issues, Serenading, Slice of Life, Third Wheel Joey Batey, Vaginal Fingering, Voice Kink, Wassail, doc martens</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:35:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>37,312</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28279593</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boomkin/pseuds/Boomkin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Joey's figured out that Madeleine kind of, sort of fancies a certain red-headed coworker of his, so he takes a page out of Henry's book and sets to scheming. Although he may get more than he bargained for, being stuck with "two horny twits who can't seem to do anything but make eyes at each other" while he waits for his boyfriend to come home.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>(Background) Madeleine Hyland/Paul Bullion, Joey Batey &amp; Madeleine Hyland, Joey Batey/Henry Cavill</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>PJLJ [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1866055</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Lone Pine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In the midst of another lockdown, Joey figures out the perfect Christmas gift for Madeleine when he discovers that her interest in Paul is far greater than she lets on.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I.</p><p>Lone Pine</p><p> </p><p>Oh God, if I’m anything by a clinical name, I’m a kind of paranoiac in reverse. I suspect people of plotting to make me happy.</p><p>                — <em> Franny and Zooey</em></p><p> </p><p>It was downright ridiculous, the amount of times he had awoken to what he thought was thunder, based on the loud rumbling sound, only to go through the heartbreaking realization that it was simply Mr. Carmichael rolling his wheelie bin down the snicket between their flats. It happened every Tuesday morning, he discovered after spending several weeks at home without reprieve; and yet, he always seemed to forget about it in that first untethered moment of consciousness before awakening.</p><p>This morning, however, Joey mourns the wasted potential for something out of the ordinary. He was growing desperate in lockdown, the monotony closing in on him until there was nowhere to move without falling into a hapless void. The weather certainly didn’t help, he figured, squinting at the window to watch the leftover rainwater slide along the eaves, combining into fat, heavy drops that fall against the windowsill. </p><p>There is an odd sense of displacement, being without Henry for a time, as he filmed away on location while Joey, on the other hand, saw little outside the studio sets for a brief period in the early months of autumn. In theory, Joey was prepared for their return to work and the distance it would bring, inevitably, to their relationship, but the expectation did nothing to cushion the impact.</p><p>It’s not something he’s <em> proud </em> of, the yearning, the urgency that pervades their impromptu trysts that are, quite unfortunately, few and far between due to limitations of “the bubble.”  Henry, as he’s become aware of, has little time in his day for such ruminations. Though they do occur; namely in the late hours, when the clock grows loud, each tick a grain of sand slipping through the glass.</p><p>The bed moves slightly, a small shiver if that.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, and then there’s this one. </em>
</p><p>Glancing behind him, he notices Madeleine’s stocking feet poking out from the untucked covers, so he kicks them back into place and then plasters himself against her side to try and diffuse his body heat. The quaking subsides and she settles again. Joey places an arm around her middle, rests his head next to her shoulder.</p><p>Not ten minutes after he’d bunkered down for the night, Madeleine had barged into his room to slide under the covers, teeth chattering, fingers like tiny icicles that she pressed up under his shirt. </p><p>“Holy fucking cock,” he screeched, squirming away from her. </p><p>“Well it’s your fault we’re living in an igloo right now,” she pointed out, eliciting a drawn-out groan from him. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah, I know I broke the radiator. Idle hands are the devil’s playthings. We’ve sussed it out.” She yawned, so deeply that Joey could hear her jaw crack. </p><p>“You might want to have a go at bleeding the pipes, but you’ll need a key for it,” she mused vaguely. Joey turned and gathered her up into his arms to help thaw her frozen bones. </p><p>“Tomorrow,” he resolved. “Also, knocking. It goes both ways, dear. What if I was...busy? Hm?” Madeleine snorted and burrowed down into the pillow, making herself comfortable. </p><p>“Then what was that three hour call with Henry about?” Joey poked her in the ribs. </p><p>“It was not three hours,” he grumbled. She slapped his fingers away. </p><p>“Bet you a tenner it was. Go ahead and check.” </p><p>“I’ll do no such thing.” </p><p>“It’s ‘cause you know you’re a slut for that muscly man of yours,” she whispered with a teasing little snicker. Joey waited a beat, letting her have her laugh before throwing down the gauntlet. </p><p>“Says the woman who gets wet every time Paul posts on Instagram, which is <em> a lot, </em>by the way.” He felt her shoulders tense and then came a dramatic scoff. </p><p>“I do not!” She squeaked in protest. “He’s just…he’s got a good voice.” </p><p>“Right. Yeah. That’s it. C’mon dear, I know exactly what you do with those videos.” </p><p>“Shut up and go to sleep, you arse.” Joey chuckled into his pillow. Together they listened to the rain pelting against the glass, the wind howling, lulling them towards slumber. </p><p>“Okay," Madeleine piped up, breaking the silence. "But, like, can you even blame me?” His eyes fluttered but stayed shut, mind teetering towards a sedative state. It was late, even for him.</p><p>“Never,” he murmured, a sleepy, slurred exclamation of his enthusiasm. “Red heads. They need love too.” </p><p>At present, the urge for a piss and a cuppa is making itself known, but moving seems like too much of a chore without proper heat to ease the stiffness in his wrists and ankles. <em> Because apparently I’m being punished for hanging about all day. </em>He sighs, rolling away from Madeleine to stretch his limbs, decidedly ignoring the various pops and cracks that accompany his ministrations. </p><p>It’s disorienting, a bit jarring even, the way it often feels as though he’s lived an entire year in a single day. <em> Because father time lost his goddamn marbles and the world collectively tripped on them. </em> So it makes sense, the "bruised all over" feeling, the stupefaction that seems to plague him in random bursts. </p><p>Madeleine’s arm twitches. Joey turns his attention to her. She lays sprawled on her back, lips parted slightly as she breathes soft and even. Her hair is a dark, frizzy halo around her pale face, the white comforter a gown that she swims in. </p><p>It reminds him of Ophelia floating dead in the water. </p><p>He plants a kiss to her forehead like a benediction, pictures himself tucking flowers into her hair. Her nose scrunches, reminding him that she's very much alive, robustly so.</p><p>
  <em> But it doesn't feel like that. We’re fucking wasting away in here, utterly lifeless and— </em>
</p><p>“Mmmhuh,” Madeleine whines in her sleep. Joey covers his mouth with a hand to stem the urge to laugh. Even in her sleep she's forcing him to keep his chin up. He glances down at her form. Normally she’s quite placid, curled around a pillow as she sleeps heavily, but that’s clearly not the case this morning. And he’s got a fairly good idea as to why that is when suddenly her cheeks turn a rosy colour and her eyebrows knit with tension. A hand curls into the sheets. </p><p>
  <em> Right. Time for that much needed piss.  </em>
</p><p>He slides gingerly from the bed, tiptoes along the rug, which, ultimately, he ends up tripping on at the sound of Madeleine’s whimpering moan followed by a soft cry of “Paul!” </p><p>“Fucking cock,” he hisses at himself, snatching the velvet smoking jacket that Robert gave her<em> (because when she put it on he said: "You look like you're about to slay in that, and I, for one, would bow down and say 'Thank you. So very much. For handing me my arse."') </em>and quickly shrugging into it before getting the hell out of his room. </p><p>Not ten minutes later and Madeleine’s padding through the tiny hallway, yawning and stretching out her arms. Joey tries not to appear amused from his place on the sofa, focusing on the banana he’s peeling instead. </p><p>“Good sleep?” He asks in a neutral tone. Madeleine simply squints at him. </p><p>“Give me back my dressing gown, you thief! I’ve been looking for that.” Joey snorts, taking a large bite from his fruit. </p><p>“Finders keepers, darling.” She grumbles, walking back to her own room and appearing once again with a thick shawl wrapped around her shoulders. </p><p>“Did you get the kettle on?” Joey makes an affirmative noise.</p><p>“‘s on the hob, but I could go for a Starbucks right now, honestly.” She tilts her head to the side, assessing him.</p><p>“You’re not still hungover, are you?” He raises his eyebrows.</p><p>“Gorblimey, dear. Not at all. But we’ve got to pick up that radiator key, so why not stop on the way?” The kettle begins to whistle, beckoning her to the kitchen. </p><p>“Right. Let’s just—I’ve got to wake up first,” she shouts. Joey can hear her muttering under her breath as she roots around in the cupboards, preparing their tea. Without consideration, he tosses his banana peel on the coffee table and leisurely stretches out across the sofa. </p><p>“Oi, move your arse,” Madeleine crows, appearing with two steaming cups in her hands. She gives Joey the plain one, found at a nearby charity shop, and keeps the fancy one, a posh bone China from her late grandmother. He takes the proffered drink, murmuring his thanks as he bends his knees to his chest.</p><p>She nods and settles herself into the wide berth he’s provided, legs drawn up behind her. They sip quietly for a moment, peering around each other and Joey thinks about how to broach the subject of her dreams. If anything, he’d like to ease into mentioning it, but it soon becomes clear that he's bereft of subtlety, at least on this morning. </p><p>“So…” Madeleine raises a skeptical eyebrow over the lip of her cup. </p><p>“So?” Joey rests his cup in his lap, hands culling warmth from the chipped porcelain. </p><p>“Paul. Seems you’re proper gone on him.”</p><p>That faint blush dapples her cheeks again and she sets her cup on the table only to pull the shawl tighter around her shoulders as if it could somehow shield her from Joey’s scrutiny. When she speaks, it’s gentle and nonchalant, patient even. </p><p>“I’d say that’s a bit of an exaggeration, dear.” Joey resists rolling his eyes. <em> Right. Yes. That’s all it is. </em>And of course he can’t put it to rest.</p><p>“Madeleine, you moaned for the man in your sleep.” She chokes on her tea, coughing, gasping for air. Joey leans forward and slaps her between the shoulder blades. </p><p>“Please,” she rasps. “<em> Please </em>say you’re having me on.” Joey shakes his head. </p><p>“I’m not.” She breathes out calmly and tips over onto her back, smushing a throw pillow over her face. Joey startles at her long, muffled scream. When she removes it, her entire face is red. He waits for her to catch her breath, skin gradually returning to its natural complexion.</p><p>“At first I thought ‘oh you’re just restless from lockdown and it’s made you downright <em> randy,</em> hasn’t it?’ But now? <em> Gods Joey, </em>every time he posts on Instagram it’s like, ‘Excuse me? You have no right, sir, you’ve no right to fuck with my poor, fragile heart.” Joey clears his throat, eyes roving around the room in an attempt to seem casual. </p><p>“Erm, so, just some food for thought, Henry’s good mates with him now—“</p><p>“Oh no,” Madeleine says resolutely. “No. I’m not even entertaining that thought.” </p><p>“You don’t even know what I was about to say!” She chuffs, highly offended. </p><p>“I certainly do. You’re scheming to get me laid, which is insulting. Honestly darling, we’re in the thick of it with the virus. It would be completely inappropriate.” She throws her hands in the air, voice rising. “I mean, how—it would never work. What am I supposed to do? Ring him and say, ‘Yes, hello, we’ve never actually met, but would you like to nip over for a shag?” She crosses her arms, blows at an errant piece of hair that’s fallen in her face. Joey takes a slow sip of his tea, peering at her from the corner of his eye before speaking.</p><p>“I...I’d wager he would.” She huffs, picking at a loose thread in the shawl. </p><p>“Yes, alright. And what will you do in the meantime? Have you got any idea how completely <em> unsexy </em>that is? Working around a flatmate? No offense, love.” </p><p>“None taken. So, then what about his place?” </p><p>“He’s got one too—a flatmate.” Joey looks unconvinced. </p><p>“How do you know?” Madeleine rolls her eyes. She produces her mobile from somewhere inside her coverings, tapping it a few times and then shoving it into Joey’s hand. A raucous acoustic rings out, accompanied by a loud, almost brash tenor that Joey knows belongs to the man in question. He’s wearing a festive beanie, his red curls peeking out, little flames that lick the sides of his face; a dark, long-sleeve shirt strains over the cut of his biceps. Joey reads the caption below the video. </p><p><em> A bit of #Foreigner since it looks like it’s just me and my roommate this Xmas. #longlongwayfromhome #isolation #guitar #acoustic #classicrock </em> </p><p>“Guess he’s not traveling to see family either.” Madeleine nods. </p><p>“We certainly aren’t the only ones,” she mumbles over her cup. Joey glances at her and then back to the video. He does this a few times, a thoughtful expression in his features. </p><p>“What’s that face for?” She wonders, voice heavy in suspicion. Joey bites his lip. He breaks into a mischievous grin, eyes twinkling with mirth. </p><p>“You’re spending Christmas with me at Henry’s, right? The three of us?” She looks wary. </p><p>“Right…” </p><p>“In a terraced flat, several storeys high and therefore easy to hide away in.” </p><p>“You are <em> not </em>inviting Paul.” </p><p>“Oh come on!” </p><p>“Joey, that’s weird and what would Henry say? I don’t think he’d be partial to letting me use his home so I can shag someone.” </p><p>“I can guarantee he would be all too eagerabout it. He loves playing matchmaker.” She shakes her head. </p><p>“I don’t see it happening. Too awkward. Too much pressure. I’m quite happy with my weighted blanket and vibrator, thank you very much.” Joey gives her a sideways glance. </p><p>“Alright, how about this? The lad lives nearby, right? So it would make sense to invite him...because who wants to spend Christmas with their flatmate? I mean, really.” Madeleine glares at him. </p><p>“Oh fuck. No! I don’t mean it like <em> that. </em>We’re different, dear. You know we are.” She hangs her head, resting her face in her hands. </p><p>“Do you truly think he’d come? Joey, think about it. Other than your boyfriend, who’s the fucking patron saint of tolerance—He’s gorgeous and he’s agreeable? Completely unfair.—why would anyone want to spend Christmas with people whose idea of a good time is playing rummy while pissed on vodka and orange Lucozade?” </p><p>Joey opens his mouth.</p><p>“And don’t say the Dear Hearts because that’s cheating!” </p><p>He shuts his mouth. </p><p>“Alright,” he says a moment later. “If you <em> really </em>don’t want him there, I’ll drop it.” Madeleine sips her tea and looks away. </p><p>“It's...it’s not that I don’t <em> want </em> him there. I’m only saying that it’s highly unlikely he'll want to come.” <em> Right then. Go ahead and act aloof, but I know you’re secretly dying for him to show up and sweep you off your feet.  </em></p><p>“Oh, not to worry. Henry’s a persuasive bastard when he wants to be. If you want Paul for Christmas, then you’ll get him.” He expects some sort of response about how the man is not an object, but a person, and Joey can’t simply <em> give him </em> to her like a Christmas gift because he has rights and it just doesn’t work that way. </p><p>Instead, a sly smile forms on her lips and she says, “Oh dear, sweet Joey. You always do give the best gifts.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Helena Bonham Carter is the source for the bit about the weighted blanket and vibrator. :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Weeping Willow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Madeleine and Paul meet for the first time and returning to Henry's empty flat proves overwhelming for Joey.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>II.</p><p>Weeping Willow</p><p> </p><p>I’m sorry, I’m awful, I’ve just felt so terribly destructive all week. It’s awful. I’m horrible.</p><p>                     — <em> Franny and Zooey</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em><br/>
Two weeks later… </em>
</p><p>“I still can’t believe he agreed to this,” Madeleine muses to herself as she shifts into park and unbuckles her seat belt. She slips off her mittens and raises her hands to the hot air her beloved Volkswagen works hard to produce. “And not only that, but he made his roommate get tested with him and sent <em> pictures </em>of the results.” Joey snorts while digging into the paper sack between his feet. </p><p>“Yes, well, we call that ‘being a decent human being.’ That shouldn’t be impressive, dear.” She scoffs at him. </p><p>“Says the impatient arse who complained about having to queue for his own test.” From the sack, he brandishes a steaming sausage roll, waving it around like a blade in her face. </p><p>“I wasn’t complaining about having to wait! I was complaining about all the fucking muppets who can’t seem to understand what two meters apart means.” He sighs and leans back in his seat, blowing on the hot pastry. “And that’s exactly why Henry’s stuck quarantining <em> again, </em>because some cockwombling prick couldn’t follow the rules.” Madeleine clicks her tongue. </p><p>“I’m so sorry, dear. He’s getting back for Christmas Eve though, yeah?” </p><p>“Mm. He had another test today. Once the results come in he can leave, assuming it’s still negative...Ouch! Fuck! Every cocking time, I swear,” he yelps after taking his first bite from the sausage roll. “I mean, how is it <em> still </em>too hot to eat?” He wipes the hot grease from his fingers onto a flimsy paper napkin. Madeleine adjusts her knitted beret and tosses her frizzy hair behind her shoulder before throwing him a haughty glance. </p><p>“Which is exactly why Gregg’s is evil. The pastries are always scalding or freezing, never in between.” Joey emits an impatient noise from the back of his throat. </p><p>“I <em> know </em> that,” he groans. “But I can’t help feeling weirdly optimistic that one day they’ll get it right.” She rolls her eyes, shaking her head in judgement. Joey sticks his burnt tongue out at her and then gingerly takes another bite, making sure to blow on it a little more beforehand. Madeleine redirects her gaze out the driver’s side window, using the arm of her pea coat to wipe off the condensation that clings to it.  </p><p>They’re parked along a hedge row. One that lines the block of terraced flats across the street from Henry’s narrow abode and suddenly Joey’s hit with a sense of déjà vu. <em> If only I’d brought wine gums, it’d be like eight months ago. </em>He smiles to himself before peeking over at Madeleine to find her eyes shut, forehead tipped against the glass. </p><p>“You’re nervous,” he murmurs. She huffs out a sigh, cracking an eye open. </p><p>“Really? What gave it away?” He narrows his gaze at her. <em> Oh come off it.  </em></p><p>“The whole point of this is to have fun and enjoy yourself. That’s all. Don’t be like me and overthink it. If something happens, then wonderful. If not, well, his loss then.” She looks down at the hem of her coat, picking off a few pieces of lint. </p><p>“It’s not...that, exactly. That’s not what I’m afraid of.” Joey raises his eyebrows. </p><p>“Afraid?” He finishes the sausage roll, flicking the crumbs off his fingers and grabbing her hand to lace them together firmly. </p><p>“I don’t...I don’t want this to turn into something more than what it’s supposed to be.”</p><p>“Meaning you want him to put an end to your dry spell and then move on.” She nods and continues to look down at her coat, thumbing along the stitching. </p><p>“I’ve just got this feeling that...that it won’t be so simple and…and that I’m completely foolish.” She collapses forward, banging her head against the steering wheel. <em> “God, </em>Joey, this is so utterly ridiculous. Honestly dear, have you ever seen anything so pathetic?” Joey frowns at the way her face crumples into a tortured expression. </p><p>He surveys the delicate features of her hand, the tiny chips in her nail polish and the ring made to look like antlers curling around her middle finger, which he brings to his mouth for a kiss. </p><p>“Don’t do that,” he whispers. “It’s not funny when you do it.” </p><p>“Oh, but it is when it’s you? It breaks my heart any time you say something bad about yourself.” </p><p>“Look at me,” Joey demands, his tone dead serious. It takes her a moment, but eventually her chocolate irises rise to meet his own. </p><p>“You’re not pathetic or anything of the sort, and you know it. Why would you say that?” She pulls her hand from his grasp, crossing her arms. </p><p>“Because I can never just be...slick about anything. I’d love to be able to show up all cool and aloof, get what I want, and then leave. Wouldn’t that be nice?” She squeezes the steering wheel, bumping her forehead rhythmically against it again. “But there’s always <em> feelings </em> and <em> decorum </em> and—and it’s like I can’t escape it, which is terrible because if I could just <em> be different, </em>maybe I wouldn’t absolutely destroy everything I touch. I swear to god, Joey. I’m like King Midas in reverse.” Joey chuffs.</p><p>“The people you <em> think </em>you’ve destroyed? You haven’t. It’s only that you’ve yet to meet someone who’d prefer to keep up with you rather than try to reign you in, as it were.” Madeleine gazes thoughtfully at her nails, picking at them. </p><p>“You think so? Is it really that simple?” Joey’s smile is wistful.</p><p>“No,” he explains, “but it’s a start, yes?” She shrugs, glancing over at the clock above the radio. </p><p>“We should probably go inside now. No sense waiting in the cold if he’s to be late.” </p><p>Not a second later and a rush of turquoise passes along in the background of Madeleine’s window. Both of them snap their heads to find an old VW Golf, circa 1990, with a Christmas tree covering the roof. A deft three-point turn reveals their guest at the wheel, bopping his curly head of hair side to side and singing along to a song blasting through the speakers. </p><p>Joey hears a creaking noise, his eyes dashing around to find the source. They promptly land on Madeleine’s hands which are actively crushing the steering wheel in a tight grip. </p><p>“How do you think he’d react,” she ponders in a low, wispy voice, “if he knew…” she trails off, observing him in the midst of parallel parking. </p><p>“Knew what?” Joey presses.</p><p>“About the vodka and orange lucozade.” Joey snorts inelegantly.</p><p>“You’re still on about that?”</p><p>“Joey, the bloke spends his time marathon training, and what do we do?” </p><p>“Hey!” He admonishes. “We’re productive.” </p><p>“Oh fuck. He’s coming.” She scrambles for her seatbelt, but Joey stops her. </p><p>“Breathe, darling. Breathe.” She inhales long and slow to produce a shuddering exhale. Joey squeezes her hand in an effort to calm her. He knows how paralyzing a situation it can be, the way it feels when his heart is in his throat, making it hard to speak when he’s tongue-tied as it is. </p><p>The air is blistering with chill, forcing him to pull his coat tight and turn the collar up to protect his ears. He sidles around the bonnet, intent on greeting Paul first so Madeleine can finish smoothing out her hair or whatever fidgety thing she’s doing at the moment, but the man appears to have tunnel vision insomuch that he beelines specifically towards her. </p><p>He stops, leaving a few paces between them, hands shoved in his trouser pockets, curls fluttering along his cheeks despite being partially obscured by the ear flaps of his wool hat. He surveys the body of her car while she fusses with the buttons of her coat, seemingly unable to meet his eyes. That is until his gaze turns back to her with a twinkling grin. </p><p>She finally looks up and there’s a beat where they just <em> stare </em>at each other, little puffs of warm breath escaping into the frosty air. </p><p>“Erm, hi,” Madeleine squeaks out, pulling nervously at the button she was messing with. </p><p>“Hello,” Paul says. “Does this lovely yellow punch buggy belong to you?” Madeleine nods profusely. </p><p>“Mhm. Her name’s Disty, by the way.” Paul blinks at her. She clears her throat. “Erm, because she’s a rather skittish thing...and incredibly fickle to boot.” He continues to look at her with traces of incredulity in his expression until he abruptly breaks into a toothy smile, looks towards the ground and shakes his head. </p><p>“The Golf over there? That’s Penny, and the reason why is stupid, so never mind it.” Her mouth parts on a laugh.</p><p>“Oho, but you see, now you’ve got to tell me. Surely you understand that?” He groans, turns to the side and gestures to the vehicle in question. </p><p>“It’s, ah, hmm. Well it’s just, look at her colour. She’s like the patina on an old penny farthing, don’t you think?” Joey purses his lips to cover up a smirk, noticing the way Madeleine’s eyes quiver, which indicates that she’s completely overcome. </p><p>“That’s not stupid <em> at all,” </em>she assures him. “It’s brilliant!” Paul chuckles lowly. </p><p>“Thank you. So, I’m Paul, if you haven’t guessed.”</p><p>“Yes, I know! Erm, Instagram and all that.”</p><p>“Aye. I know that much, <em> Madeleine.” </em> He leans in a smidge closer, lowering his voice into something conspiratorial. “Is it true you’re really a tree in disguise?” Joey looks up to see her shrug, an innocent smile on her face as she meets his penetrative gaze. Paul smirks. “Guess I’ll have to do some investigating, won’t I?” Madeleine quirks a suggestive eyebrow. </p><p>“Hm, guess so,” she teases before turning on her heel to gather her bags, the heavy drape of her skirt whipping at his ankles. </p><p>“Erm, need any help with that tree, mate?” Joey calls out to Paul, who freezes and turns, eyes bugging out.</p><p>“Oh, Joey! Hello! Didn’t even see you there.” <em> Of course you didn’t.  </em></p><p>“It’s alright. I’m rather forgettable next to my lovely band mate.” Paul laughs uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. Joey clears his throat. “So then, the tree…”</p><p>“Tree?” Paul echoes, his eyes wandering over to Madeleine who’s now rummaging around in the boot.  </p><p>“I mean the one you’ve got on top of your car, mate. Need help getting that inside?” </p><p>“Oh, yeah, yes, thank you. I’ll just…let me just get my suitcase and guitar first and then we’ll sort it out.” </p><p>“Smashing. I’ve brought mine as well,” Joey responds, flashing a quick thumbs up. He waits until Paul busies himself with his things and then promptly rounds on Madeleine who bats her eyelashes innocently. </p><p>“So, then…” she trails off. Joey pulls his guitar case from the boot while she slings a hefty Gladstone bag over her shoulder. “Seems like Paul’s got the right idea with the Christmas tree. We’ll dress it up nice and proper, give Henry something festive to come home to, hm?” Joey snorts.</p><p>“Say what you will, but I think Paul’s found a better tree to set his sights on.” Joey winks at her and slams the boot shut. Madeleine slaps his chest. “Oh c’mon dear, be proud. One brief introduction and the lad’s already smitten.”</p><p>Joey peers over her shoulder, tilting his head to indicate that she should indeed turn around. Together, they openly stare as Paul removes his hat and a cascade of luscious, red curls bounce free. He shakes them out, runs a hand through them, creating a tousled look. He’s got his guitar case over his shoulder and that, combined with a brown overcoat and a shabby wool scarf, he appears to be going for “bedraggled folk musician.” <em> I almost expect him to pull out a drum and start reciting Allen Ginsberg’s “Howl.” </em>A low whine escapes Madeleine. </p><p>“Oh <em> dear god, </em>he’s like a...a sexy ginger bear,” she whispers as he makes his way over to them. Joey hooks his chin over her shoulder and squeezes her arms. </p><p>“I’ll give you fifty quid to call him that in bed.” </p><p>“Fuck off,” she murmurs with a smile. Joey snickers. </p><p>“Alright, a hundred?” She groans. </p><p>“One-fifty.”</p><p>“Deal.” </p>
<hr/><p>It was wholly unexpected, the sudden wistfulness that throbbed in Joey’s heart upon entering Henry’s flat. There was a crisp, citrusy smell, likely from the recent cleaning to remove all the dust and stale air that accumulated after months of vacancy, but underneath all that were hints of something familiar. It was the same scent that permeated his little cottage in Arborfield, something rich and spicy and <em> warm </em>, no matter the temperature. </p><p>So while Paul and Madeleine puttered about, tending to the heat and insisting that the other should take the spacious guest room on the top level, Joey trudged downstairs to curl atop Henry’s bed in hopes of finding a more concentrated aroma of him. </p><p>He finds the room tidy, verging on bare in some places, and Joey laments the lack of dog hair on the blanket that lays neatly folded at the foot of the bed. <em> Because it’s just not right without it. </em> He runs his hand over it in a slow sweep, picks it up, bringing it to his nose. </p><p>It’s been washed. </p><p>Of course it has. It was probably dirty and full of Kal’s slobber. Still though, he can’t help the panic that bubbles up through his stomach like bile. He quickly snatches a pillow, and that too has been washed, the case has, but he pulls it off and buries his nose in deep. </p><p>He’s home now. </p><p>“Gods, finally,” he whispers to himself, cradling the pillow in his arms as he curls his body up around it. He shivers and lets his tears spill freely, dampening the material in his arms. It goes on that way for what feels like eternity, but is probably no more than five minutes, his ears ringing from the intensity of complete silence. </p><p>“There you are,” says Madeleine from the doorway. Joey startles, but doesn’t look up. The bed dips. A warm hand cups his cheek. “He’ll be here soon, darling. Only a little longer now.” She cards her fingers through his hair, humming sweetly. </p><p>“‘M so weak,” Joey mumbles. “One whiff of him and I’m falling apart.” He chuffs. “And you think you’re pathetic.” She kisses his temple. </p><p>“Oh, but I am, love. You’ll see. Our holiday’s just getting started.” He harrumphs, causing her to giggle. He wipes his eyes and takes a shaky breath. </p><p>“So which overly-polite plonker won the smaller room?”</p><p>“I did,” she sniffs, dusting her shoulder. Joey snorts. </p><p>“Of course.” She shrugs.</p><p>“Well when it came down to it, there’s simply no way he’d fit in such a small bed. Why should I have the big one?” </p><p>“You’ll both have the big one if you play your cards right.” She rolls her eyes while rubbing her arms for warmth. “Remember: a chip and a chair, darling. It’s all you need.” </p><p>“Yes, well,” she looks around, zeroing in on the radiator next to the dresser and moving to turn it on. “I can think of a few other things I need and food is at the top of that list. We’ve got to do a big shop and maybe yours truly will pay for delivery, hm?” Joey yawns into his hand. </p><p>“He’s playing Cyberpunk right now, so you’ll have to ring him if you want something. He’s completely ignoring texts I’ve found.” </p><p>“Alright. Why don’t you kip down for a while and Paul and I will take care of things, yeah?” Joey shrugs out of his coat and turns down the covers. </p><p>“What about the tree?” She smirks.</p><p>“Oh, I’m quite certain we’ll manage.” </p>
<hr/><p>The Christmas tree is a wild thing, branchy and sparse rather than full bodied, yet large enough that Joey finds himself scratching his head at Paul’s ability to transport it on the roof of a compact car. <em> Stranger things, I suppose. </em>They’ll have to find some lights for it and something to go underneath that will hide the water in the stand. Thinking about it, he’s not even sure if Henry has Christmas decorations, given that he’s rarely in the same place year after year. Nevertheless, Madeleine would surely jump at the chance to improvise something. She could craft anything, Joey was certain. </p><p>Speaking of, a ringing laugh echoes out through the hall and into Joey’s near vicinity. There’s a slight susurrus of her voice overlaid with Paul’s and Joey realizes they’re in the kitchen. He considers making an appearance, but instead he lowers himself onto the sofa and, well, sort of just...listens...</p><p>“I could go for a pie, to be perfectly frank. I’m thinking one sweet and one savoury. What do you go in for?” Paul asks nonchalantly. </p><p>“Hmm. Whatever can be paired with wine…which I suppose is anything if you’re brave enough.” They share in a laugh and then the fridge whooshes open. </p><p>“It’s not yet chilled, is it?” Paul asks. </p><p>“Mm, probably not,” answers Madeleine. A beat of silence and then: </p><p>“Sod it. Let’s crack it open,” Paul declares. Madeleine claps her hands in delight. </p><p>“Ooh, yes, now you’re speaking my language.” </p><p>And Joey very much wants a glass of that chardonnay she brought, but stays put in fear of interrupting any budding development between the two. Instead, he listens on as their glasses clink together in a toast. </p><p>“Ooh that’s good stuff,” Paul rumbles. Madeleine makes a soft noise of agreement. They chatter on about the food and just when Joey thinks moving back downstairs to play guitar might prove more interesting, there’s a quick <em> thunk </em>of a glass being set down and then Paul speaks in a hushed voice, so much that Joey has to really strain to hear what’s being said.  </p><p>“I’m not sure why, and maybe you can help me figure it out, but I feel like we’ve met before. Obviously, you know, we haven’t, but...I’m just trying to piece together why that is.” </p><p>
  <em> Well this should be good. C’mon dear, charm the pants off him. </em>
</p><p>“Oh god, but like, me too? I mean, I feel the same way, and...” she trails off. </p><p>“What is it?” Paul asks tentatively. Joey holds his breath. </p><p>“I think it might be because I’d been wanting to meet you for a while now.” </p><p>“You have?” He sounds genuinely surprised. </p><p>“Yes, ah, em, ever since you sang Damien Rice. It sort of just clicked like, oh yeah, I think we’d quite get along.” She clears her throat. “You’ve a lovely voice, by the way.” Joey thinks Paul must be midway through a sip of wine based on the weird choking sound he makes. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he coughs. “You think <em> I’ve </em>got a good voice?” </p><p>“Very much!” She exclaims. “Why are you so incredulous?” </p><p>“Ah, erm, hm, because you’re—you’re...you’re like Etta James meets Edith Piaf.” She laughs nervously. <em> Her face must be scarlet.  </em></p><p>“Oh god, no. No, no, no, not me. I mean, I could never be….’m not…” </p><p>“Oh, c’mon, don’t be modest! You’re amazing. And the new album? Pure class. I love it. Got it queued on Spotify, erm, basically always.” </p><p>“I…I’m so chuffed right now. I’m not sure what to say other than, you know, I can’t take all the credit. Joey. Erm, he’s sort of the wizard behind it all. I just feed off his magic.” Paul utters a tut of disapproval. </p><p>“Say what you will, but Joey’s voice isn’t the one I pay attention to.” <em> Bloody hell, please just shag already. You clearly need it just as much as she does. </em> And Madeleine must pick up on it because her voice, <em> (Paul’s favourite sound, obviously), </em>lowers into something rich and time-honored, with a dash of sexy cadence for good measure. </p><p>“Well then...maybe tonight...after everything’s sorted, you can bring out your acoustic and we’ll see what’s what, hm?” </p><p>“I’d love nothing more,” Paul replies in a rough burr. </p><p>Between Madeleine’s gumption and Paul’s wit, both of which appear to be effortless, Joey’s thoughts turn to his relationship with Henry and how completely awkward they were in comparison. Granted, Joey made it considerably difficult with his lack of awareness and initial resistance. </p><p>
  <em> I suppose it doesn’t matter then, how we came to be and all that.  </em>
</p><p>His thoughts stray further, visions of all the nondescript moments thereafter. The ones that make him thankful for Henry ensnaring him in that bathtub. </p><p>
  <em> Moaning, screaming into pillows. Springs creaking, a headboard slamming against the wall. Fingers grappling at sheets that wick away sweat. Sharp teeth along nipples, hip bones, the nape of a neck. A kind of skin hunger, a desire, belly deep, that slides between a tender lump and a fluttering pulse.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Eskimo kisses. Tender inner wrists sliding together. Resting foreheads. Hands cupping cheeks and chins. Cold toes sliding along warm calves in bed. Lips feathered against temples, the curve of a shoulder.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Henry. </em>
</p><p>Henry, who calls him beautiful, amazing, talented, sexy and means all of it.</p><p>Henry, who never judges, but encourages and brings out the best in him.</p><p>And fuck, if he doesn’t need that right now.</p><p>But wine? Now that’s something he can get in short order—something to dull the senses and deliver him from this godforsaken waiting game for the next day or so. Madeleine and Paul will just have to deal with his presence, and if it happens to put a damper on their sensual wiles, then so be it. </p><p>While sluggishly gathering himself to rise from the sofa, Joey’s mobile  buzzes in his pocket, effectively stalling his drinking plans for the moment. He retrieves it to find a text from none other than his truly. </p><p>“Are you alone?”</p><p>Joey bites his lip. He knows exactly what Henry’s intentions are, asking such a pointed question, and normally he would jump at the chance to bring himself off while his boyfriend mutters naughty things to him over the phone. Except right now he’s feeling extremely petty. </p><p>“What happened to Cyberpunk?” </p><p>“I miss you,” he instantly responds. <em> Eager.  </em></p><p>“Clearly, if it’s enough to keep you from gaming.”</p><p>“Go to my room and take off your clothes.” <em> Bossy.  </em></p><p>“Ask nicely and maybe I will.”</p><p>“Please go to my room and take off your clothes.” <em> Insincere.  </em></p><p>“No.” </p><p>“Are you taking the piss?” <em> Always.  </em></p><p>“I want you to wait.” </p><p>“Why?” <em> Because.  </em></p><p>“Think of it as an xmas gift. It’ll pair nicely with what I got you.” </p><p>“Fine. But I’ll be in agony until then.” <em> Good.  </em></p><p>“You’ll manage.”</p><p>Joey slides his mobile into his pocket and luxuriates in a long and languorous stretch. <em> Well, I certainly feel like the cat who got the cream.  </em></p><p>
  <em> Ehem, or “will be getting,” I should say.  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Choke Cherry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Madeleine and Paul get cozy and Joey frets over his Christmas gift for Henry.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>III.</p><p>Choke Cherry </p><p><br/>
Let's just try to have a marvelous time this weekend. I mean not try to analyze everything to death for once, if possible, especially me. I love you. </p><p>                         — <em> Franny and Zooey  </em></p><p> </p><p>Afternoon gives rise to evening in a way that reminds him of how he would slip into the pews at university chapel on Sunday mornings: with as much stealth as a chronically late and slightly intoxicated person could muster. </p><p>He remembers a time in particular, kneeling with his hands clasped in prayer, mouth automatically moving, forming the words to the Nicene Creed while his eyes scanned the room and landed on an acolyte who was in the midst of staring him down. It took him a moment, but the realization lit his cheeks aflame and he couldn’t look away, couldn’t be the one to break eye contact. </p><p>So he held it in hopes that he could silently convey a message to the handsome lad. Although, as Joey was figuring out, he looked different by the light of day, donning a crisp surplice and swinging a censer back and forth like a pendulum. His expression spoke of severity and judgement, but Joey ignored it in favor of remembering a smile, a come-hither glance, a pouty mouth forming a perfect ‘o.’ <em> He was so sweet with my cock in his mouth, what a shame it didn’t last.  </em></p><p>“What’s on your mind, darling?” Madeleine inquires from her perch at the end of the bed. Joey snaps himself out of his reverie, wincing at the empty glass in his hand. He sets it on the bedside table, crosses his arms and leans back against the headboard. They’re in the guest room, the smaller one that she talked her way into occupying. She sits with her legs crossed, a pool of dark velvet lays draped over her knee while she works the fine point of a needle along the edge of it. </p><p>“Oh, you know, the passage of time and all that. Nothing serious.” She snorts, continuing to work while humming to herself. Joey sighs heavily, reaching forward to thumb at the rich fabric in her lap. “It’s almost done?” </p><p>“Mm. Once I fix the hem.” He shakes his head in disbelief. </p><p>“Dearest Madeleine, it’s perfect.” She smirks. </p><p>“It really is though. Absolutely gorgeous. My best work yet, I’d say.” </p><p>“Do you really think he’ll like it?” He whispers timidly, eyes downcast. She pauses and takes hold of his chin, lifting his face to meet her eyes. </p><p>“It’s going to be the greatest gift he’s ever received. And do you know why dear?” Joey raises an eyebrow. “Because it’s <em> you.” </em>She places a tender kiss to his forehead, petting at his stubbly cheek with her thumb. </p><p>“Stop it or I’ll cry again,” he grumbles. She boops his nose. </p><p>“Oh Joey, how on earth could you cry knowing that, at this very moment, there’s an abundance of cheese in the fridge? He rolls his eyes. </p><p>“Is this your way of asking me to bring you some?” Instead of answering verbally, she pouts and bats her eyelashes at him, her chocolate pupils wide and quivering. He groans and slides onto the floor, forcing himself to his feet. </p><p>“Fine,” he bites out and then promptly yanks her headband down over her eyes, leaving her to threats about how she’s going to poke him with her sewing needle if he’s not careful. </p><p>In the kitchen, Joey rummages through the fridge, now filled to the brim with provisions for their holiday pursuits. At first he searches for the cheese his dearest friend had requested, but then various bottles of red vintage catch his eye. If there was ever a time to overindulge, it would be now, he presumed. <em> I’d never miss an opportunity to blame something on holiday spirit! </em>  So he picks out a bottle, one that’s unobtrusive enough to go missing without consequence. <em> Twist off cap? Pfft. They’ll never know. </em>He slams the door and whips around to watch Paul flit to and fro with a mixing bowl, bits of flour in his hair a sharp contrast to the ginger hue. Joey noisily clears his throat. </p><p>“Alright?,” Paul rumbles amid a series of indiscriminate mutterings that Joey thinks are indicative of a person who's got everything to lose. <em> This isn’t the British Bleeding Bake-off, so calm your tits.  </em></p><p>“Never better. Erm...need any help there?” <em> Please say no. </em>Paul shakes his head.</p><p>“Not unless you’ve got a handle on beef wellington.” Joey’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. </p><p>“Move over Gordon Ramsay.” Paul shrugs, the caginess in his demeanour more than noticeable. Joey uncaps the wine and takes a long swig straight from the bottle, coughing slightly. <em> Definitely forgettable. </em> Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he notices that Paul seems to be having some sort of internal struggle before he sets the bowl aside, leaning on the island so that his obscenely chiseled arms are on full display <em> . </em>He hangs his head low and sighs. </p><p>“Joey, I’m <em> really </em>gone on her,” he admits. Joey glances away uncomfortably.  </p><p>“Ah…and who...who might ‘her’ be?” Paul narrows his eyes. </p><p>“Don’t even try taking the piss.” Joey throws his hand up in consternation. </p><p>“What do you want then? I’m not...I can’t just <em> meddle </em> in it.” Paul cranes his head, eyes bugging out incredulously.</p><p>“You most certainly can.” <em> Yes, on her part. I’d help her commit murder if she asked me, but you? I’m not your mate. I’m not here to help you ‘pull’ or whatever it is you bloody well want. </em>Joey groans and runs a hand over his face. </p><p>“Alright,” he begins and then stops to take a few gulps from the bottle. “Ah, okay, truthfully? I don’t think you’ve got to cook a Michelin star meal to make a statement. I’m quite certain pot noodles and a carton of After Eights would do it in the right circumstance.” Paul glares at him. Joey rolls his eyes.</p><p>“It’s just…I get the sense that she wants to, erm…”</p><p>“Shag?” Joey supplies for him. </p><p>“Yeah.” <em> Believe me, I know.  </em></p><p>“Well then, that’s good, yeah? You’ve got dinner going. A bit of jamming later. You're all set. Erm, ah, listen, if you need condoms, I <em> think </em>there’s some around here. We don’t, ah, use ‘em a whole lot, Henry and I, since we’re monogamous.” Paul’s face takes on a deer in the headlights appearance. Joey swallows another gulp of wine and then tilts his head in bewilderment. “What?” He asks. “It’s not that unusual, mate, we’re both clean, so—“</p><p>“Joey that’s, I’m not...that’s not what I’m—“ he shakes his head and laughs, delighted. “Joey! I didn’t even know you two were together!” </p><p>All at once the blood drains from Joey’s face, fingertips and the back of his neck turning to ice. He coughs uncomfortably, blinking. “I—I’m sorry, but Henry…? He didn’t tell you? What about when he invited you here?” Paul chuckles.</p><p>“No, he did say that you would be here, obviously, but I didn’t—I never put two and two together.” </p><p>"Eh, well, I suppose you’d have figured it out when he gets back. Erm, no one on production knows yet, so maybe that’s why, but, ah, now you know, we’re in a relationship”—Joey takes another long swig—“and also into barebacking,” he wheezes. Paul smacks a palm to his forehead. </p><p>“Aah, I’m completely daft,” he groans. Shaking his head, he meets Joey’s eyes and smiles. “But also, completely chuffed! Seriously, that’s the cat’s pajamas, mate. For how long?” Joey looks smug. </p><p>“Since March.” Paul’s eyes widen in understanding and then he grins saucily. </p><p>“Oho, I know what you two randy bastards got up to in lockdown.” He peeks the tip of his tongue out teasingly. Joey chuckles, feeling light on his feet from all the wine. </p><p>“Yeah, well, seems like we may not be the only ones.” He looks pointedly at Paul who averts his eyes. </p><p>“It’s not…weird is it? I mean, I know you and she are close and you live together.” Joey waves him off. </p><p>“Nooo. No. I think it’s smashing!” He takes another drink and comes up next to Paul, slapping him good-naturedly on the shoulder. “In fact, I’m rooting for you two. It’s why I orc—” Joey hiccups, “Or-chest-rated the whole thing.” Paul looks taken aback.</p><p>“Wait what thing?” Joey burps into his arm, pats his chest.</p><p>“You, her, here.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Upstairs where no one can hear you.” Paul blinks. </p><p>“But…why? I mean, how did…” he trails off, recognition reaching his features. “What did she say to you?” Joey clamps a hand over his mouth. “Joey, tell me. She wanted this?” He shakes his head until it spins. </p><p>“No I can’t—I can’t. I won’t interfere. What’s that saying? Careless talk costs lives?” Paul snorts.</p><p>“This isn’t World War II, you tosspot.” Joey giggles and takes another drink. Paul grabs the bottle from his hands, setting it on the counter. “Hey!”</p><p>“Do you <em> want </em> to be pissed before dinner?” Joey stares at him like he’s grown a second head. </p><p>“Yes actually, I do. We’re on holiday.” Paul rolls his eyes. </p><p>“Never mind. Look, can you stop being a little shit for a mere <em> five seconds </em> and listen to me?” Joey purses his lips. </p><p>"No. Not really. It’s actually my M.O. Henry loves it. It’s how I got into his bed…I think?” Paul looks unamused.</p><p>“That sounds like Henry. The goofball. Okay, but like, I mean it Joey. <em> Please </em>fucking listen?” Joey stands up straight, sobering himself.</p><p>“Fine, but if you want to know anything specific about Madeleine, you need to ask her yourself. We may be close, but I’m not her bloody keeper.” </p><p>“I <em> know </em> that. I mean, yes, okay, we’ve only just met, but”—he cuts off on an exhale— “ her voice…and,” he lets his eyes slide closed, shakes his head. “She’s a fucking <em> enigma </em> to me. I…” The limpid blue of his irises bore into Joey with a steely resolve. “I’m trying to be tactful, but I don't want…” He huffs and makes an impatient noise. “It’s hard for me to imagine this being only a one off. I...I want to <em> be </em> with her, Joey.” </p><p>Joey blows out a breath and then makes a clicking noise with his tongue. <em> Hm, yeah, that’s lovely, but maybe get her off first and then see where it takes you. Honestly, all you’ve got to do is use those ridiculous arms of your and pick her up, maybe get her legs around your head... </em></p><p>“What?” Paul exclaims. Joey quirks an eyebrow. </p><p>“What, ‘what’? What’s wrong?” </p><p>“Are you telling me she wants me to, erm, like...<em> manhandle </em>her?”</p><p>“Fuck! What? I never—I said that out loud?” </p><p>“Did she tell you that?” </p><p>“No,” he shakes his head. “No, not—not <em> explicitly. </em>Alright? It’s just—ah, think of it as...an educated guess?” </p><p>“What’s an educated guess?” Madeleine questions as she rounds the corner of the stairs, waltzing into the kitchen. They stand rooted to the floor and silent. She cocks a skeptical eyebrow. Joey clears his throat, swallowing hard.</p><p>“Erm, just...pot noodles and After Eights are probably a hot commodity at Tesco right now.” Madeleine throws her hands up to indicate her exasperation. </p><p>“Trade restrictions,” she moans. “We’re royally fucked come January.” </p><p>“Brexit. Yaaaay!” Paul mutters sarcastically, waving his hands in a mock cheer. Madeleine beams up at him as though he’s just hung the moon. He winks at her, holding her gaze and it’s like they’re hypnotized. That is, until she giggles. Paul raises a playful eyebrow in question. </p><p>“Here, turn around,” she commands. He does as he’s told. She presses down on his shoulders until he lowers himself enough that she can comfortably reach his flour coated hair. She combs her fingers through it gently, smoothing out the tangles and then gathers it up into a half ponytail which she secures with the hair tie on her wrist. “All done.” </p><p>Paul straightens up slowly and turns around even slower, his eyes not quite meeting hers. He clears his throat.</p><p>“Thank you,” he says hoarsely. Madeleine draws in a quick breath. </p><p>“I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“</p><p>“No, that was—“</p><p>“Upset you—“</p><p>“You didn’t. I promise. It’s just that it’s been…” he trails off, swallowing while staring directly over her, his nostrils flaring as he works to school his features. Joey tries to make himself appear small, shrinking back into the corner, but afraid to do much more in fear of drawing attention to himself. <em> Fuck. I need to disappear right now. What the ever bleeding fuck, mate? Steady on, now.  </em></p><p>“You’re alright,” Madeleine gently assures him, reaching for his hand to hold it between hers. “It’s difficult, isn’t it? The isolation.” Paul nods dejectedly. She runs the pads of her fingers absently along his knuckles. “Can I...would it be alright if I hugged you?” Paul blinks down at her. </p><p>“Later,” he husks with intent, bringing his other hand to join hers. They gaze fixedly at each other and the moment builds thick and heady with words unspoken. Joey grits his teeth, listing lazily in the direction of the counter where he picks up the wine bottle, uncaps it and takes a small sip, keeping one eye open. Of course Madeleine is all too aware, however, as she can practically smell wine from a kilometer off. </p><p>“Oi! That’s the cooking sherry! I need that, you inconsiderate lout!” She screeches at him. He chokes, coughing and spluttering. Eventually he’s able to clear his throat several times, slapping a hand to his chest. </p><p>“Oh fuck, no wonder it tastes like piss,” Joey gasps. Madeleine puts her hands on her hips. </p><p>“And what happened to bringing me cheese?”</p><p>Paul laughs heartily at their exchange. </p>
<hr/><p>The beef wellington is more than decent, Joey woefully concludes after a few tentative bites. It makes it more difficult then, to keep up the effects of his overindulgence. He had planned on eating just enough to sustain himself without ruining the perfectly balanced stupor he’d cultivated, but of course that changed when he found himself actually <em> enjoying </em>the meal. Bite by delicious bite, the dampener on his faculties slowly lifted, the hearty food acting as a counterbalance to all that free flowing wine. </p><p>And so together the three of them sat at the small round table off to the side of the kitchen, the more formal dining table being both too large and also lacking chairs for it, so rarely was it used. Joey had dimmed the lights to accommodate his photosensitivity, no doubt induced by the alcohol, and the candles Madeleine had gathered for a centerpiece flickered and shone, casting their faces in shadow. <em> It would be rather romantic, but, no. They’re both too polite, refusing to let me eat by myself in front of the telly. I mean, why not?  </em> <em> I never sit down for meals anymore and I don’t need to now.  </em></p><p>“It’s true,” he sheepishly admits to Paul. “I’m either stood over the counter eating cold leftovers or laying on the sofa with a bowl of Weetabix or the like.” </p><p>“You and your Weetabix,” Madeleine grumbles. Paul glances at her questioningly. “He leaves the bowl in the sink without rinsing it first!” she explains. Paul lays a hand over his chest as though he’s been wounded. </p><p>“Joey, that’s...that’s a <em> cardinal </em>sin.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Joey mutters, shrugging it off. “That shit turns to cement if it dries. I’m a bloody heathen. Kick off all you want.” He takes a gulp of much needed water as the conversation lulls into a deafening scrape of silverware. He tries not to notice how Madeleine and Paul keep stealing looks at each other over their plates, but it's blatantly obvious. <em> I suppose I’ll start counting down the inevitable.  </em></p><p>He makes it to ten "one-thousand" and then Paul breaks the silence. </p><p>“That’s a lovely dress, Madeleine,” He declares with what Joey considers to be a forced nonchalance. </p><p>“Thank you,” she trills after clearing her throat. “I made it myself.” Paul looks up from his plate in surprise. </p><p>“Really? That’s excellent. So, you’re quite handy with a sewing machine then?” She nods, her cheeks like two blossoming roses. </p><p>“I mean, I would hope so.” She sits back in her chair, taking a casual sip of wine. “I was but a wee lass when I began my journey as a clothier,” She declares facetiously. Paul chuckles. </p><p>“I can sew buttons and darn holes but that’s about it.” </p><p>“But that’s nothing to sneeze at, dear! I mean, really, the things we pick up in theatre.” Paul sets his silverware down. </p><p>“Actually, it was my mother who taught me.”</p><p>“When you were a child?” </p><p>“Mm. She made all of my costumes when I was a lad.” Madeleine all but marvels at him. </p><p>“That’s lovely. Were you on stage a lot as a child?”</p><p>“Aye. Since I could speak.”</p><p>“Oh but that’s simply precious!” Paul ducks his head and smiles as though he’s remembering something pleasant. </p><p>“My father and I did community theatre on occasion. The first time, I wasn’t even old enough to read yet. My mum had to read me my lines and I’d recite them back to her.” Joey’s gaze moves back and forth between them. He bites his lip in amusement while swilling the wine in his glass. </p><p>“What play was it?” Madeleine inquiries with bated breath. Paul looks up at her, having been lost in thought. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“What play were you in?”</p><p>“Oh, it was, erm..." He laughs. "It was <em> A Christmas Carol. </em>My father was Bob Cratchit and I was the little boy, you know the one Scrooge asks to fetch him the turkey?” </p><p>“Eh, you mean the one as big as me?” Joey chimes in with a high, reedy voice reminiscent of a child. Paul and Madeleine share in a laugh and then all goes quiet. </p><p>“Yes, exactly,” Paul eventually murmurs, expression downcast. Madeleine places her hand over his on the table. </p><p>“Is everything alright?” Joey notices the way Paul swallows, his shoulders tensing. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. </p><p>“Yes, I’m…” he trails off at a loss for words. He looks away uncomfortably, slowly scooting his chair back. “I’m sorry, it's just...my family. I fucking <em> miss </em> them.” And he says it with such emphasis, such emotion, that Joey can nearly feel the tugging ache himself. Paul stands, throwing his cloth napkin down at his place setting. </p><p>“I apologize, but I...I need a moment,” he informs them breathlessly, barreling out the doorway and up the stairs. Joey watches Madeleine stare at her empty plate as if she’s trying to see through it. She starts, but Joey clamps a hand around her wrist, keeping her settled. </p><p>“Give him a little time, darling,” he whispers. She bites her lip and nods. Joey’s eyes flick to the near empty bottle of pinot noir and then to his empty glass. He picks up the bottle, hesitating, but ultimately bringing it straight to his lips. He takes a large pull and then passes it to Madeleine who wordlessly takes it and proceeds to finish it off in a few quick gulps. </p><p>“Erm, so...I wonder what that’s like...missing your parents…” Joey muses. Madeleine chuffs.</p><p>“It’s different for you,” she tells him, voice small and quiet. “Your mum and dad...they’re…” she clears her throat. “Sorry dear, but your mum’s a royal cunt and your dad’s a prick for not saying anything.” Joey reaches out to hold her hand. </p><p>“Never apologize for telling the truth,” he says in earnest. “Have you spoken to yours yet?” She nods.</p><p>“A little, but I think we’ll chat on Christmas as well.” Joey rubs his thumb along her knuckles, letting the moment linger before switching gears. </p><p>“Darling,” he nearly whispers, “After <em> months </em>of being utterly alone, what would you want above all else?” She inhales sharply. </p><p>“I think, maybe I’d want...to feel alive? To feel human again, I’d imagine.” Joey purses his lips.</p><p>“This morning, in the car, you said you felt like this would turn into something more than what it was supposed to be.” </p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>“Madeleine, you know I never want to step on your toes…”</p><p>“But?”</p><p>“Just...be careful with him.” </p><p>“Yes, I know. He’s definitely vulnerable at the moment; clearly he's got a lot process.” </p><p>“No, I mean yes, but  Madeleine, that’s not—in the kitchen, earlier...he sort of let slip that it would be more than just sex for him.” She blinks, but her expression stays neutral, so Joey doubles down. “Dear, if you take him to bed, the way he speaks about you, <em> gods, </em>but he’s going to fall in love!”</p><p>Madeleine shrinks back, flinching at how he’s just knocked her off kilter. He observes the way her throat works, the way her eyes have turned a muted, mud colour. She hugs her arms around herself and Joey wants to replace them with his own, but he knows better. She laughs bitterly. </p><p>“That’s foolish.” </p><p>“That’s <em> wise.”  </em></p><p>They stare hard at each other, reaching a stand-off. </p><p>“He would be a fool <em> not </em>to,” Joey explains. Madeleine turns her antler ring around and around on her finger. </p><p>“It begins like that, which is all good and well, but I’ll see to it that it doesn’t last. I always do, one way or another, eventually.” </p><p>And Joey’s heart clenches at that, the way she speaks with such self deprecation, like it’s a hard fact, but also how she tries to play it off so casually. </p><p>“Oh <em> Madeleine,” </em>he croaks, reaching out for her hand again. She stiffens. </p><p>“Don’t worry, dear. I’ll keep a weather eye on him,” she vows with a lack of emotion. </p><p>“And what about you?” He ponders with a frown. She narrows her eyes. </p><p>“What about me?” </p><p>“You look at him like—”</p><p>“I’m <em>aware</em> of how I look at him. It’s what happens when you’re physically attracted to someone, if you didn’t know.” Joey bites his tongue, trying with all his might to ignore the tension in her posture, the way she picks at her nails, creating more chips in the polish. He blows out a breath, surrendering his notions on the topic. <em> Don’t poke the bear, you insufferable git.  </em></p><p>Paul reappears in the doorway with his acoustic in hand, looking hopeful, a far cry from his expression before. </p><p>“Will you sing?” he asks Madeleine with a hint of bashfulness. Joey automatically starts to gather up the dishes. </p><p>“Go ahead,” he advises. “I’ll do the washing up.” Madeleine nods at Joey and then smiles up at Paul.</p><p>“Of course. Why don’t I get the kettle on first and then we can go downstairs…” she pauses, twirling her ring around her finger again. “Or, erm, or we...we could go upstairs?” Paul opens his mouth to speak, but as Joey stacks the plates and utensils together, he lets them clash loudly like an untrained waiter’s assistant might do. Paul clears his throat over the din. </p><p>“Why not downstairs first? I can get the heat sorted, light a fire maybe?” </p><p>“That sounds lovely, thank you,” she murmurs. </p>
<hr/><p>In the kitchen, Joey’s thoughts turn to Henry as he loads the dishwasher. <em> If he truly loves </em> all <em> of me, then he’ll love his gift...right? </em> He shakes his head. <em> Maybe it’s a bad idea. I mean, I’m sort of springing this on him and we haven’t even talked about— </em>A delicate pair of hands cover his shoulder blades, pressing in with heat and the power to quell the anxiety sluicing through his veins. </p><p>“Stop thinking,” she chides softly. “I won’t let you talk yourself out of it.” </p><p>Joey’s shoulders cave inwards. He shuts the water off, dries his hands, and then turns to her, wrapping her in a hug. They breathe deeply, in and out together, while he rests his cheek on top of her head. </p><p>“You and your ability to read my mind,” he grumbles. She laughs into his chest and he pulls back to look at her. “So, erm, I checked in Henry’s bedside and there’s—”</p><p>“Oh, erm, but I’m quite prepared already,” she explains with a giggle. </p><p>“Right. I figured. I—you know, in case—” She pats his cheek. </p><p>“I know you’re looking out for me. Thank you. It’s very sweet. Although, I’m not sure if...we’ll have to...feel it out first, I suppose.” He tucks a stray hair behind her ear. </p><p>“Well, enjoy yourself,” he says in parting.  That’s what's important.”</p><p>They separate and Madeleine fixes the tea while Joey finishes with the dishes. By the time he’s done, she’s long gone, but of course she had the foresight to leave enough water in the kettle for him to make his own cuppa, which he shamelessly spikes with brandy and lemon. </p><p>His intention is to settle in for the night with a stiff drink and a pack of chocolate digestives to sweeten the sour mood he will no doubt be in after phoning his parents. <em> Best get it over with before Henry comes around.   </em></p><p>However, on his way downstairs, his attention strays, and for good reason. From the living room, Madeleine’s cackle rings out, a loud guffaw from Paul soon entwining with it. Altogether it stops and then Paul begins the opening chords of a song, one of <em> their </em>songs, Joey and Madeleine’s. He halts at the landing, deciding to have a quick peek when she starts to sing in that familiar husky murmur of hers. </p><p>Joey tiptoes closer to the sound, careful to stay out of the recessed lighting that falls over the archway because the last thing he wants to do is break the spell they’ve woven. From his place in the dark, he can glimpse their huddled forms, Paul seated on the edge of the sofa with Madeleine balanced on the coffee table in front of him, their knees touching, bodies leaning in close, the acoustic their only barrier. </p><p>As if settling in for a show, Joey slips a digestive out of the pack to dip it in his hot toddy and they reach the part in the song that makes him feel like he’s on the edge of a cliff, a breath held before a roar is unleashed. Joey finds himself holding his own breath, the chocolate treat poised over his cup as Madeleine sings:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Can't you hear it? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It can hear you </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It wants me to</em>
</p><p> </p><p>A beat, and then before she can deliver the last line herself, Paul leans forward so their noses are almost touching and whispers:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Throw the plate at the wall</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Silently, they meet each other’s eyes, an intake of breath and then Paul leans in and Madeleine’s lips are on his instantly. His hand cups her cheek and she reaches out to take his guitar, but he quickly moves it to the side so she can slot a knee between his. Her fingers plunge into his curls, a tumble of glowing orange in the soft-focused light. The kiss decidedly deepens when he takes hold of her by the waist and lifts her to sit on his lap. It’s effortless, the way he picks her up, like her body is filled with gossamer feathers rather than density rich muscle and bone. </p><p>Joey backs away slowly towards the landing, but he only makes it a few steps before the biscuit breaks into two, the larger chunk of it falling with a soft <em> splat! </em> into his cup, soaking his shirt with scalding heat. He bites his lip so hard it draws blood. <em>Fuck, if I </em> <em> ruin this for them. </em>His breathing picks up and he scurries away as quickly as possible without making noise. </p><p>Down in the basement, Joey stares at the mushy mess in his tea, most of which has sunken to the bottom. <em> Is it possible to cry in British? Because that’s what my heart would like me to do.  </em></p><p>“I’m cursed,” he whines to Henry, who he rang without a second thought. </p><p>“I’ll be the judge of that,” Henry replies in amusement. </p><p>“My digestive crumbled and the whole thing fell into my tea.”  </p><p>“Eh, yeah, you’re cursed. Sorry.” Joey whines low in the back of his throat. </p><p>“I was going to call my parents, but I take this as a sign that I shouldn’t.”</p><p>“Oh <em> no, </em> but you’ve got to, that’s what they’re there for, to console you on that kind of thing.” Joey flings himself onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. <em>But you've really no idea, darling. </em></p><p>“I...I’ll do it tomorrow. Honestly, I’m a bit lonely and I’d much rather hear your voice right now.” </p><p>“I know the feeling, which is why I’m living vicariously through the likeness of Keanu Reeves at the moment.” They share a small chuckle. </p><p>“I heard there’s problems with it," Joey mentions. "The game, I mean." </p><p>“Yeah, there’s definitely some kinks they’ve got to iron out, but that’s typical." Henry yawns and Joey pictures him stretching out in his chair, his shirt riding up to reveal a teasing strip of skin. "So you’re alone because Madeleine and Paul are breaking in the guest bed upstairs, yes?” Joey chuffs</p><p>“Maybe. They were snogging on the sofa when I last saw them. I <em> hope </em> they went upstairs.” Henry laughs.</p><p>“I can’t blame them if they’re not able to make it that far, but if there’s stains, then they better be scrubbed clean before I get back.” </p><p>“Oh gods, no I mean, I dunno if they’ll even <em>get to</em> shagging. It’s, ah—”</p><p>“Complicated?”</p><p>“Beyond. Which is a fucking <em> travesty </em> because all day I’ve been surrounded by two horny twits who can’t seem to do anything but make eyes at each other, and the thought of going through it again tomorrow is utterly painful.” </p><p>“Then we’ll both be in pain because <em> someone </em> won’t let me have a wank.” </p><p>“Oh, it’s just terrible, isn’t it?” Henry groans, but Joey is not at all deterred. “I’m hoping to make you so incredibly horny that maybe you’ll at least be...amenable to what I’m giving you.” </p><p>“You think I won’t like it?” <em> I’m fucking terrified of the possibility.  </em></p><p>“I...I’m not sure, to be completely honest.” Henry tuts.</p><p><em> “Joey, </em> you know you don’t have to get me anything. Honestly love, I just want to be with you. I want <em> you </em>for Christmas.” Joey swallows around the lump forming in his throat. </p><p>“And that’s exactly what you’re going to get, just, erm, probably not in the way you were expecting, I don’t think?” </p><p>“You’re being cryptic. Don’t do that. If it’s troubling you this much, just tell me now.” </p><p>“I can’t,” Joey nearly whimpers.</p><p>“Why not?” Henry sounds affronted. “Who says it has to be a surprise?” </p><p><em> “I </em> do. It’s...it’s the only way I can—It’ll make sense when you see it, darling.” Henry clicks his tongue. </p><p>“Fine, but I promise, I’ll love whatever it is because it came from <em> you.” </em> Joey takes a shuddering breath to calm his anguished mind, exhaling loudly into the speaker. </p><p>“I’ll take your word for it, darling. Always.” </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Quaking Aspen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Joey is spiraling and it’s all Paul’s fault. Sort of. Maybe.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw: depiction of panic disorder, non-graphic description of suicide</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>IV.</p><p>Quaking Aspen </p><p> </p><p>Why are you breaking down, incidentally? I mean if you’re able to go into a collapse with all your might, why can’t you use the same energy to stay well and busy?</p><p>
  <em>                  — Franny and Zooey </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It gets late, verging on the small hours of the morning, before Joey succumbs to a fitful sleep. In truth, it felt like ages since he last slept well. He had grown accustomed to Henry at his back and Kal over his legs, and while Madeleine seemed perfectly happy with her weighted blanket (cheekily sewing in a little pocket for her vibrator), Joey could never bring himself to purchase his own. Although, he often reconsidered each time that hollow, empty feeling found its way to his chest, when the loneliness became exhausting and he couldn’t even cry because he was just too <em> tired.  </em></p><p>“Fine. ’l’ll fucking buy one for when he’s gone again,” he whispered to himself, his last thought of the night. </p><p>It’s only a matter of minutes, or what feels like it, before he’s roused by the bed dipping in. He groans, acutely aware of the light filtering in through the jalousies. Didn’t he <em> just </em>fall asleep? All at once, his senses come into focus and he recognizes the sweet scent of Madeleine’s hair and the way she slides between the sheets like a slip of paper, for it’s such a slight thing. </p><p>“Mmm?” He mouths, lips smacking together as his eyes flutter open. Her face is buried in his neck with her arms tucked in tight, hands fisted in his faded, wrinkled shirt. “You alright?” He asks, though it sounds more like “y’alreet?” with the way his accent comes out thick first thing in the morning. </p><p>She says nothing, but he can feel her rapid puffs of breath and a trickle of moisture on his skin. He wraps his arms around her, a hand petting her hair as he kisses it. “Darling?” He croaks. A sniffling sob rings out and his heart shatters, rendering him fully alert. He pulls back, lifting her head. </p><p>“Oh <em> Madeleine, </em> what happened, dear?” She sniffles once, twice, and then her lip quivers, spurring her into another fit of sobs. Paul suddenly comes to mind and the anger he feels is visceral, so much that he wishes he could spit fire at the man. “I swear if he hurt you, I’ll break his bloody kneecaps.” She blinks away more tears, inhaling tremulously as she shakes her head. </p><p>“He didn’t,” she breathes out. Joey wipes under her eyes with his thumbs. </p><p>“Alright. Then...what’s wrong?” Her face crumples and she hides in Joey’s neck once again. </p><p>“He’s...he’s…”</p><p>“He’s what, darling?” She swallows, sniffling some more. Joey reaches over to grab a tissue from his bedside. He brings it to her nose and she blows into it noisily.</p><p>“Thank you,” she murmurs. Joey kisses her forehead and then looks into her watery orbs expectantly. She falls back into the pillows, letting the tears continue to flow as she speaks. “I don’t deserve him.” Joey waits for her to continue, but she simply stares at the ceiling as though the statement was meant to be final.</p><p>“Why do you say that?” He asks. She huffs and wipes more tears away. </p><p>“Because he’s good, dear. He’s...he’s <em> good.” </em>Joey quirks an eyebrow. </p><p>“Ah, you mean, like, in bed?” She laughs quietly.</p><p>“No, I mean, well, maybe. Probably. I don’t know yet. I was talking about him just as a person in general.” Joey lays next to her, resting his head on her shoulder. She reaches for his hair, scratching at his scalp with her fingernails, which makes him all but purr. </p><p>“Mmm, so no shagging last night?”</p><p>“No. We snogged a little, but he was overwhelmed and I was overwhelmed, and <em> god, </em>I feel like I’ve been crying for days.” Joey lifts his head.</p><p>“You were crying?” He exclaims. </p><p>“We both were. It was...I mean I was singing and then we kissed and then...well, we just held each other and we couldn’t stop touching faces and hands and hair and it felt <em> so lovely </em> to be given attention that way, you know?” And Joey does know because as much as he loves to hug her and hold her hand and pet at her hair, there’s no intention behind it. </p><p>“Yes, and I’m very much glad. Were you able to sleep at all or were you up all night thinking about it?”</p><p>“I managed a few hours, but we just kept chatting and chatting and the next thing I knew I was waking up on my bed with all my clothes on and a blanket around me. I think—”</p><p>“He carried you upstairs.”</p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>“Oh darling, did his chivalry make you fall apart?” Madeleine covers her face and emits a sharp mewl in frustration. </p><p>“He’s so incredibly polite and what’s worse is that you know he’s not expecting anything in return. He’s just a kind person. I’ll bet he’d carry you upstairs too.” Joey chuffs. She sighs dramatically. “And...there’s something else.” </p><p>“Oh no,” he says sarcastically. “What is it?” She makes a whining noise in the back of her throat.</p><p>“He’s never once called me anything but ‘Madeleine.’ No nicknames or pet names. Just <em> Madeleine.” </em> She tosses her hands in the air. “Ugh and I can’t stop thinking about the way he says it: Madeleine. <em> Madeleine. </em>God, I can only imagine how it’ll sound when...erm…” Joey snorts. </p><p>“When he’s fucking you into next week?” She squeals and then rolls over to scream into the pillow. </p><p>“Yes, very good, dear. That’s great practice for later.” She elbows him in the shoulder. </p><p>“Stop it. This is horrible. A blight on my already fragile ego.” </p><p>“How’s that exactly? You hate it when people call you by anything other than your actual name. Well, except me, but that’s different. So why—” He cuts himself off, noticing the mortified expression on her reddened face. He blinks, placing an incredulous hand over his mouth. </p><p>“Don’t. Say. Anything,” she warns him. Her hands start to cover her face again but he pulls them away, holding steady. </p><p>“You <em> want </em>him to call you something else,” he accuses in a low voice. She shakes her head with vehemence. </p><p>“Yes, come on, come on, be honest. Yes, you do, and you want him to do it while he’s ramming you with his big cock!” Joey lowers his voice into a comically poor version of Paul’s. “Oh! Yes! <em> Maddie, baby! </em>Uh! Uh! Uh!” Madeleine’s eyes turn to saucers and she kicks Joey in the shin. He yelps in pain between his cackling laughs. </p><p>“Fine,” she huffs. “Yes. I want it. Are you happy now, you little blighter?” He nods, grinning. They settle, Joey catching his breath and Madeleine being pensive. He takes her hand, folding it into his grasp. </p><p>“Be honest,” he whispers tenderly. “It’s not like you to fret, so why are you acting like the world’s about to end?” </p><p>“You already know the answer,” she mumbles. </p><p>“I know, but say it anyway.” </p><p>“Because...it’s going to be more than just sex. I’m not sure what it will be exactly, but it won’t be a one and done, that much I know for certain."</p><p>“You’ve just got to go with it, darling,” he urges. Her eyes squeeze shut, fresh tears falling immediately. </p><p>“I’m <em> scared,” </em>she warbles, a loud sob following. Joey pulls her into his arms again. "I don’t know if I can do this. I...I honestly think I’m meant to be alone. It’s why I always ruin it...wedge my trusty spanner in the gears so it all comes to a grinding halt.”</p><p>“Yes, but this could be different.”</p><p>“How?” </p><p>“He seems like he’s intuitive and patient and steadfast and basically all the things you need from someone. Because that’s what you want, right? Someone who’ll fight to keep you when it comes down to it?”</p><p>“Well...yes,” she admits in a small voice, drawing lazy patterns on the sheets with her painted fingernail. Joey chuckles. “I—I’d quite like it if someone would just say, ‘Yes, I know you’re terrified and all you want to do is run away from your problems, but I won’t let you and we’ll deal with it together.’ I mean, can you imagine?” Joey smiles. </p><p>“Why am I picturing him literally running after you?” She giggles.</p><p>“Oh, I’d do that in a heartbeat if it meant he’d pick me up and throw me over his shoulder.” Her eyes glaze over and she bites her lip. “Maybe a little smack on the bum for being a bad girl.” Joey frowns.  </p><p>“I’m sorry, don’t hate me, but I kind of insinuated that you’d probably like it if he tossed you around a bit during sex and he was completely scandalized by the idea, so if it’s a spanking you want, that’ll definitely take a bit of negotiating. ” For the umpteenth time, Madeleine covers her face in shame and groans. </p><p>“Okay, but like, can you tell I’m horny?  I mean, the talking was absolutely wonderful and unexpected, but I swear to god Joey, if he doesn’t just bend me over tonight I’ll go absolutely feral.” Joey emits a loud yawn and turns over, grabbing a pillow to hug against himself. </p><p>“Just walk up to him and start taking your clothes off. He’ll get the message.” </p>
<hr/><p>Within the first twenty-four or so hours since arriving at Henry’s, Paul has proven himself to be innately chipper, much to Joey’s consternation. <em> Honestly, the world could be ending and he’d probably find something to be happy about. </em>But more than that, he’s a “doer,” a “go-getter,” as it were. The combination is annoying, frankly.</p><p>A loud <em> clang! </em> and a muffled whistling interrupts Joey from a deep sleep, the type of sleep that has his heart beating fast and his muscles twitching. It’s disorienting, being startled awake when all his body wants is to complete the cycle. <em> Lord knows I don’t get enough of those.  </em></p><p>“Fuck,” he mumbles, a hand rubbing at his forehead while the other presses down on his heavily engorged cock. “Unnf. <em> Shit,” </em> he groans into the pillow, flipping over to push himself into the mattress, rutting lazily. He reaches a hand over to the drawer, opening it slightly to look inside because although he’s painfully aroused, his hand on his cock just isn’t enough. His pulse is rabbiting, blood pumping hard, and <em> Christ, I just want to be filled! I can’t wait anymore. Have I ever been so cock hungry? Gods, I don’t even know.  </em></p><p>As he reaches inside, another loud <em> clang! </em> and <em> two </em> voices this time. Madeleine and Paul, obviously. He freezes, eyes bulging out of his skull as he stares incredulously at the door. Clearly they’re on the other side of it, in Henry’s little office area, but <em> why?  </em></p><p>For a quick second, he considers yelling out “Hello?! Excuse me! I’m <em> trying </em> to have a wank in here!” but then there’s laughter and more talking and <em> what the actual fuck?  </em></p><p>He drops back into the bed, slamming his fists down into the mattress and roaring into the pillow. Rolling off the bed, he wraps the throw blanket around himself and rips open the door, peeking his face out.</p><p>“What’s all this then?” He gripes with barely contained  fury. Madeleine’s stood at the landing, her purse slung across her shoulder while Paul squats next to the radiator, a pair of pliers in hand. They stare at Joey like he’s grown a second head. </p><p>“I’m just about to nip over to our flat to pick up a few bits and bobs for the tree”—she turns to look at Paul—“including that radiator key so you’re not torturing your wrist.” Joey blinks in confusion.</p><p>“Wha...radiator? <em> That </em>radiator? But why are you even in here?” </p><p>“Oh, the one in my bedroom’s gone cold,” Paul explains as if it’s obvious. Joey runs a hand over his face.</p><p>“Right, well I’m not sure if you’ve been made aware, but this is not your bedroom,” he explains with cutting sarcasm.. Madeleine tisks at him. </p><p>“Joey,” she admonishes as though it’s <em> he </em>who is in the wrong. </p><p>“No, it’s alright,” Paul placates. “I’m sorry if I’ve awoken you. It’s just that, since I’m bleeding one, I figured I might as well bleed all of them and in terms of distribution it’s best to start at the bottom level and make your way up.” </p><p>“Isn’t that considerate, darling?” Madeleine gushes to Joey. “And we know how much of a pain in the arse it can be. Remember a fortnight ago when you broke ours?” Joey bangs his forehead against the threshold. </p><p>“Eh, yeah,” he admits in defeat. “Yeah, fine, sure, whatever.” He starts to turn away and shut the door but Paul stops him.</p><p>“Look,” he says. “I’ve, erm, brought stuff to make espresso. I could make you a cappuccino if you want? Help you wake up a bit?” Madeleine nods at Joey with purpose and then bounds up the stairs in a flourish of dark wool and cable-knitting. Joey turns to Paul with pursed lips, exhaling heavily through his nose.</p><p>“Fine,” he says. </p>
<hr/><p>And then Joey learns that for all his upfront positivity, Paul carries some rather unpleasant demons. <em> Alright. Maybe he’s not all that annoying. Maybe he’s just a thirty-something trying to live his goddamn life like the rest of our lot.  </em></p><p>“It’s good,” he tells Paul after a first, tentative sip of  cappuccino. He then wanders off to the living room and proceeds to stretch out on the sofa with a thick nest of blankets. It’s pleasant, the scent of bitter coffee and sweet cream, the cup a pinpoint of heat on his chest that spreads outwards. He turns on Netflix, browsing aimlessly until finally picking something at random. <em> If Madeleine wasn’t busy faffing about she’d happily choose for me, the little goblin.  </em></p><p>He sips his drink in silence, letting the caffeine work it’s magic as he settles into an incredibly random documentary about how internal boot releases became a vehicle standard. <em> Yeah, yeah, judge all you want, but the preview made it look interesting.  </em></p><p>Soon enough, however, Paul wanders into the room, bouncing on his heels with a tool belt on his hip. Joey watches him shove something metal below the radiator and then tries to redirect his attention to the screen, but the sound of Paul muttering to himself under his breath is a distraction. Joey peers over to see him struggle with the cap on the bleed valve. </p><p>It won’t budge. The spanner is too unwieldy. The pliers lack grip. Paul is sighing and cursing under his breath. The girl on the screen is slowly asphyxiating in a car boot.  </p><p>And Joey can’t breathe. </p><p>His throat feels clogged, and then there’s that cloying feeling in his chest and his hands are clammy and he can feel the blood rushing through his veins as his heart thuds uncomfortably. </p><p>He turns the television off, shakily setting his cup on the table and ripping off the blankets as though he was bound in them. Paul jerks his head around, curls whipping at the air. </p><p>“You alright, mate?” He asks skeptically. Joey shrugs him off.</p><p>“Yeah. Good. I’m, erm, I need to relax a bit. Mind if I use your bath?” Paul looks him over for a moment, his lips pursed. </p><p>“It’s not <em> my </em>bath. Do what you will.” </p>
<hr/><p>He knows it’s not over. No matter what he does, it will need to run its course. Though he tries his best to ignore it as he lowers himself into the warm water, the jets soothing his tight muscles. <em> Relax. Fucking relax yourself. You’re alright. You can breathe. Just breathe.  </em></p><p>He resolves to stretch his limbs out, let his hands touch the sides of the tub, willing his bones to surrender the clutch of panic, but then his heart rate kicks up again and it feels like his entire upper torso is constricting. He curls in on himself, his legs folding up. He takes a shivering, whimpering breath. The skin of his chest is irritated and when he looks down he realizes it’s because he’s rubbing and tugging at the hair there. He places his palm flat over it, willing himself to stop. </p><p>
  <em> He gingerly releases the button and peels back the shirt as if revealing a small treasure. Joey can’t help the slight tremor of his breath when Henry brushes his thumb through the hair there… </em>
</p><p>
  <em> …”You’re nervous?” </em>
</p><p>Joey gasps as the memory floods through him. He soaks it up in the same manner a sponge would, until he’s so full with it, the weight so intense that he has no choice but to relieve himself through tears. So he lets them flow, revels in it even. He’s tired, exhausted, because he always is when this happens. <em> I’m so fucking done with it.  </em></p><p>Loud sobs make him shake as he wrings out all the feeling from his body; it feels <em> good </em>to drain himself this way, letting off pure emotion. The sleep that comes after is nothing short of revitalizing. </p><p>He falls back against the side of the tub, catching his breath, letting it subside gradually. His bones feel like jelly, like he’s finally cooled down from a long run. He dips a flannel under the steaming water and then drapes it over his head, moaning in repose.</p><p>A series of loud bangs rouse him. The door handle jiggles, but doesn’t budge.</p><p>“Joey?” Paul yells through the door, voice laden with concern. “Joey are you alright?” </p><p>“I’m fine.” </p><p>“Open the door, please.” Joey scowls. </p><p>“Erm, no, I’m busy. What is it?” </p><p>“I know you’re not alright. Open the sodding door right now.” </p><p>“Fucking cock,” he mumbles. “Ah, I’m—I’m fine. I promise.” </p><p>“Joey, open the door, or I swear to all that is holy, I’ll break it down.” <em> Oh bollocks. Why did I invite him again? </em></p><p>Joey sluggishly pulls the plug on the drain and gets to his feet. He grabs his robe from the hook and cinches it closed around himself, trailing drops of water all the way to the door, which he wrenches open in anger. </p><p>“For fuck’s sake, what’s wrong with you?” </p><p>Paul immediately puts his hands on Joey’s shoulders, holding firmly as he looks him over, expression stricken. He takes Joey’s hand, turning it over and lifting up the sleeve of his robe, checking his wrist. He lets go, does the same with the other wrist and then he’s wrapping his arms around Joey, hugging him tightly while Joey stands stock still. Finally Paul lets go of him, flinching backwards like he’s been shocked. </p><p>“Ah, I’m—I’m  sorry,” he mutters, embarrassed, before shoving his hands in his pockets and turning on his heel. Joey turns his wrists over to look at the underside in confusion. <em> But why did he…? </em></p><p>
  <em> Fuck.  </em>
</p><p>“Paul, wait,” Joey shouts. He doubles back, hand still in his pockets, looking anywhere but in front of him. Joey seats himself at the foot of the bed and motions for Paul to do the same. </p><p>“Did...you thought I was hurting myself, didn’t you?” he whispers. A quick gust of air escapes Paul and Joey has his answer. </p><p>“Yes, I—I really do apologize.”</p><p>“Stop it. I’m not mad at you, I promise. Though I am a touch concerned as to why you thought I’d do that. I mean, yeah, I’m probably depressed a little, but who isn’t right now?” Paul runs a hand through his long curls and then bends forward to hug his knees. </p><p>“You were in there a while and...and then when I walked in I could hear your crying.” Joey waits for him to continue but he’s silent, staring down at his trainers. There’s a question resting heavy on his tongue, but he’s too afraid of both the turmoil it may cause and of the answer itself. One thing’s for certain, Paul’s reaction to him sobbing in the tub was entirely overwrought and he’d like to know why. He bites his lip. <em> Looks like I’ve got to ante up first.  </em></p><p>“I was, erm, having a panic attack. That’s why I was...well, sobbing basically.” Paul finally turns to him, eyes wide in alarm. </p><p>“Is that what was happening in the living room?” </p><p>“Eh, yeah, it started there.”</p><p>“I knew <em> something </em> was wrong. You were white as a sheet, looked like you’d seen a ghost or something.” Joey nervously clears his throat. </p><p>“My anxiety...it’s, ah, it’s been bad lately.” Paul acknowledges this with a nod. Joey continues. “Being isolated all the time, I think that’s made it worse...and then we’re getting into the thick of winter when there’s like three hours of good sunlight and that’s it.” Paul sighs wearily, glancing away. </p><p>“So, erm, years ago," he begins, "when I was taking graduate courses, I shared a flat with a mate from sixth form.” He pauses and Joey can see his throat working to try and form words. Paul looks up, hazel eyes shining, his nostrils flaring. “It’s a long story, but basically I found him in the bath with his wrists split clean open.” </p><p>
  <em> Fuck.  </em>
</p><p>Joey’s heart sinks into his stomach, nausea rising up in its stead. Paul doesn’t cry, but Joey assumes it’s still tremendously painful based on his expression, the shakiness of his breath. </p><p>“Did he, erm…make it?” Paul shakes his head. Joey’s breath catches. He places a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. </p><p>“And <em> you </em> were apologizing to <em> me,” </em>Joey laments. He places a palm to his forehead and mutters “Holy fucking cock” under his breath. Sighing, he turns back to Paul, scooting closer. “Come here,” he says, pulling the redhead into a hug. </p><p>“I’m sor—”</p><p>“No! Stop it,” Joey barks. <em> “I’m </em> sorry. Do you understand? You’ve got nothing to apologize for. Gods, I’m <em> so </em> sorry that happened and I’m <em> so </em>sorry for being an arse.” Paul laughs bitterly. </p><p>“You’re not an arse, but alright. Thank you. Hopefully it, erm, makes sense now why I—”</p><p>“Yes. <em> Jesus. </em> It does. It does.” Joey pulls away, lips pursed. “Tonight,” he says gravely, “you need to have fun, enjoy yourself.” Paul laughs again, this time in genuine amusement. “No, I’m serious. Don’t think it over. Take Madeleine upstairs and just... <em> let go. </em>Gods know she’s very much willing.” </p><p>“It’s not that easy,” Paul whispers. Joey pats him on the back. </p><p>“Maybe you just need her to take you by the hand and...ah, hm, well I think you get it.” </p><p>As if on cue, Madeleine walks in with several large containers in her arms and a flowery patterned face mask hanging off her ear. Her cheeks are flushed from exertion, hair a wispy nest piled on top of her head. </p><p>“Look what I’ve brought,” she announces breathlessly. </p><p>As she sets her bundle on the floor, unboxing spools of twine and copper wire, jars filled with buttons and beads, bolts of felt and pipe cleaners, and even their embarrassingly large collection of wine corks, Joey observes the way Paul watches as though he’s never seen anything quite like her before. It’s a dreamy look, the kind that Anya’s accused him of sporting when he’s focused on Henry. </p><p>At one point Paul stops her to pluck the mask from around her ear, tossing it away carelessly. They laugh and Paul tucks in her flyaway hairs that were rucked up by the elastic. She reaches for his hand, pressing it against her cheek. </p><p>And Joey’s yearning returns with a vengeance. </p><p>As usual though, Madeleine senses Joey’s inner distress and quickly loops him into a discussion about their impending decorations for the tree. Gathering everything from the floor, the three of them make their way downstairs and then Joey disappears to change into clothes, but not before Paul can take him discreetly aside. </p><p>“If it happens again, the panic attacks, erm, let me know if there’s anything I can do or, ah, not do to help, yeah?” Joey stares blankly for a moment and then blinks, remembering himself. </p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, thank you.” <em> I suppose I understand now what she means when she says he’s too pure for this world. </em></p>
<hr/><p>It’s a pleasant endeavor, creating handmade ornaments, or trying to at least. Madeleine has a vision, as Joey soon discovers, and it’s in the form of tiny woodland creatures sculpted from the wine corks and then painted accordingly. Paul volunteers to string the lights up and Joey makes a garland by threading popcorn through a fishing line. <em> So what if it's lazy and unimaginative? Fuck off. I’m tired.  </em></p><p>They work in silence with <em> Home Alone </em> playing in the background. Madeleine wanted <em> White Christmas </em> so she could sing Peggy Lee, but Joey convinced her to watch it with Paul after dinner, just the two of them. </p><p>“Did you give your parents a ring yet?” Madeleine wonders aloud. </p><p>“Shit,” Joey grumbles, banging his head on the edge of the table. “Tonight. I’ll do it then.” </p><p>Paul clears his throat to get their attention. “So,” he says, weaving the lights through the tree branches. “Anyone interested in a little wassailing?” Madeleine and Joey share a glance and then turn to look up at him. </p><p>“Erm, you mean like...like caroling?” Madeleine asks trepidatiously. Joey holds his breath. <em> Is he fucking serious right now? </em> Paul chuckles. </p><p>“That sounds charming, but no. I mean like putting all that brandy to good use and brewing up a pot of cider.” Madeleine claps her hands together in glee. </p><p>“Oh that would be simply smashing!” She twists her head back to Joey. “What do you think?” </p><p>“Erm, so, I know you’ve probably already got a best mate,” he explains to Paul, “but I’d like to list all the reasons why you should reconsider and choose me as a replacement.” Madeleine reaches over and attacks his shoulder with her fist. </p><p>“You’ve already got a best mate, you arse!” Joey shields himself, laughing all the while. He catches his breath, forcing himself to calm down. </p><p>“But truly, that’s the best idea I’ve heard...maybe ever?” Madeleine crosses her arms. </p><p>“You’re still an arse, but yes, I very much agree.” </p><p>“Ta-daa!” Paul chimes after plugging in the lights. Madeleine and Joey give the appropriate “oohs and ahhs” and then he claps his hands together in resolve. “Right then, allow me to get started.” </p><p>They wait for him to leave for the kitchen, well out of earshot, and then Madeleine collapses dramatically against the sofa. </p><p>“Joey you’ve got to help. I <em> cannot </em>get drunk because believe it or not, tonight I’d rather ride him like a sled than get soused on wassail.” </p><p>“Hmm. Either way, you’ve got the Christmas spirit, darling.” She rolls her eyes. </p><p>“Promise me?” She urges. </p><p>“Yes, yes, fine. I’ll make sure to pry it out of your cold, dead hands if it comes down to it.” </p><p>They work well into dinner time, Joey panting solid colour onto the corks while Madeleine adds in the details. When that’s finished, she carves out tiny ears and paws and tails which Joey then affixes to copper wire and again paints them solid, leaving them for her to detail. By the end of it the table is covered with little foxes and bears, rabbits and chipmunks, and even a “trash trio” consisting of a raccoon, skunk, and opossum. (“Well now you’ve got to make a tiny wheelie bin for them,” Joey had insisted.) </p><p>“C’mon,” Paul stands in the archway, motioning with a jerk of his head for them to follow him. “You can finish up tomorrow.” </p><p>They make their way to the kitchen and Joey’s suddenly hit with the scent of mulled spices like star anise and cloves, but also a fragrant burst of apple and orange along with a sharp undertone of alcohol.</p><p>“Gods, but that smells delicious<em> ,” </em>Joey practically moans. He sniffs the air a few times. “Did you toss some sort of liqueur in there?” Paul turns to grin at him from his place at the hob where he’s stirring the sacred drink inside a dutch oven. </p><p>“Aye. Found some Chambord in the cupboards. Hopefully Henry doesn’t mind.” Joey waves him off. </p><p>“Fucking brilliant, mate.” </p><p>“You ready for this?” Paul teases. </p><p>“I was born ready, if you hadn’t gathered.” Madeleine pushes a platter into his chest that he takes over to the counter, unwrapping it to find various cheeses, meats, and crackers for his perusal.  “But first, a little food so I don’t go tits over arse tonight.” Paul chortles. </p><p>“Ah, reminds me of my first tour in the West End. Was an off day, so we went to the local for a few pints, nothing dodgy about that. <em> Until </em> we discovered that the pub brewed their own scrumpy.” </p><p>“Oh no,” Madeleine murmurs, her lips twisting with mirth. </p><p>“Woke up the next morning to find myself on a park bench along the Champs-Élysées.” Joey bursts out with laughter. Madeleine gasps. </p><p>“You were in <em> France?” </em>She squeaks. Paul nods in shame. </p><p>“Nearly missed my call time. Never. Ever. Again. And so, with that,” he turns, ladling the warm beverage into three glasses. He hands the first to Madeleine, fills two more and slides one over to Joey, keeping the other for himself. “Drink up lads,” he toasts before they all clink their glasses together. Joey takes a modest pull, letting the flavour explode on his tongue. </p><p>
  <em> Oh cock. This is very much the kind of drink to get me in trouble. </em>
</p><p>“Alright?” Paul inquires with a friendly slap to the back. Joey tries not to cough. </p><p>“Yeah ‘s good, mate.”  </p><p>“Not too strong?” Joey shakes his head. Madeleine sets her glass down, visibly rattled, and turns to look at Paul. </p><p>“Oh fuck. Whooo! Alright, so <em> please </em> stop me after two glasses. The very last thing I want is to get pissed in front of you.” He takes her hand in his. </p><p>“Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye out,” he assures her with a serious gaze. “But first,” he hands her her glass. “We’ve got to sing to your health.” </p><p>“My health?” </p><p>“Yes! The ancient ritual of wassailing involves singing to the trees so they’ll flourish come the following harvest and all trees deserve to flourish, <em> Madeleine.” </em>He winks at her. Joey drops the piece of crusty bread he’d been picking at. “So here it goes.” Paul clears his throat and sings: </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> As I sat under a sycamore tree, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> a sycamore tree, a sycamore tree, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I looked me out upon the sea, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A Christmas day in the morning. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Joey stares at Madeleine in rapt attention. Her cheeks are a mottled pink and she cradled her drink with two hands like it’s the most precious of gems. Her reaction amuses him, but it’s also awkward because even though it seems quite innocent on the surface, the way they’re practically undressing each other with their eyes is anything but. And then, to top it all off, the last stanza has Joey choking on his cider. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And now we hope to taste your cheer, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> taste your cheer, taste your cheer, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And wish you all a Happy New Year, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A Christmas day in the morning. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Madeleine gingerly deposits her glass on the countertop, hands lacing together. She looks up shyly, biting her lip. “Well...would you...like to taste my cheer?” <em> Jesus. Fuck. Madeleine. I’m </em> right <em> here. </em>Paul leans down, cupping her face in his hands. </p><p>“I would,” he whispers against her lips before claiming them. Her arms wrap around his neck, fingers disappearing in his curls. Joey sits there, the sound of their kissing growing louder, more heated by the second. Unsure of what to do, he considers making a snide comment, something to interrupt them, but then he wonders if simply walking away would be better. </p><p>Instead, he raises his glass of wassail to them and drinks...</p><p>...and drinks…</p><p>...and drinks…</p><p>until it’s all gone. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you to plumvelvet for the phrase “ride him like a sled.”</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Satin Oak</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After a night of wassailing, Joey wakes up to something completely unexpected.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Alexa, queue “The Dress Looks Nice on You” by Sufjan Stevens.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>V.</p><p>Satin Oak <br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>I’m one of the little foxes that spoil the grapes.</p><p>                   — <em> Franny and Zooey </em></p><p> </p><p>“Stale” is a word that comes to mind in the moment when he peels open his crusty eyelids and moves his tongue around his dry mouth to encourage moisture. A dull pinprick of pain explodes into a full-fledged throb behind his eyes and he can’t even focus with how strikingly bright it is. He sucks in a raspy breath, releasing it in an anguished groan. Turning his head, he finds a tall glass of water next to a couple tablets of paracetamol waiting for him at his bedside. Shakily, he sits up, realizing that he’s wearing nothing but his underwear. He shivers. </p><p>
  <em> Well that was a total cock-up.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I don’t remember it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But I know it was. <br/>
</em>
</p><p>His hands tremble slightly with the water and pills. He drinks the entire glass, his parched throat making him aware of how utterly dehydrated he is. On unsteady legs, Joey hobbles over to the bathroom sink, filling his glass and chugging once more. After brushing away the funky taste in his mouth, he drags himself into Henry’s walk-in shower, curling up on the recessed stone bench where he sits and ponders as the warm spray beats down on his aching muscles. </p><p>There’s no clear image of the previous evening, he discovers. An idea here and there, maybe, but nothing that takes on a discrete shape or form. He finds that greater scrutiny makes for a lack of focus, like ink blotting out the edges of a page, seeping inward, until it reaches a void. </p><p>
  <em> Well that’s never a good sign. It’s not been three days and already I’ve managed to give them reason to have it out with me. Gods above, I’m ridiculous.  </em>
</p><p>He can only hope that Madeleine and Paul aren't completely livid with him, though it would not surprise him in the least because for all he knows, he totally mucked their evening plans. </p><p>He sulks for a while longer, massaging away the pain from his eyes and temples. If he can’t reconcile his mental state, at least he can make sure his body is thoroughly cleansed and refreshed. Although, a cursory glimpse in the mirror negates any sense of invigoration. </p><p>Dark shadows linger under bloodshot eyes with unkempt facial hair contrasting a wan complexion. He’s been run ragged, torn back, as it were. </p><p>“Cock,” he mutters under his breath. <em> Even with the vodka and orange lucozade, it’s never a total blow out. I mean the fact that I haven’t got the slightest recollection of last night is exactly why I look like utter shit right now. <br/>
I better fix this ugly mug before Henry gets back.  </em></p><p>And isn’t that just the icing on the cake? His boyfriend is due home, likely at any moment, but he feels so tired and frail that all he wants to do is crawl back into bed and sleep. Shrugging into a pair of joggers and his comfiest jumper, Joey surveys the room for his mobile which he finds charging over by the dresser. A cold shiver of dread flows along his spine. <em> Oh cock. Did Paul have to carry or possibly even drag me in here last night? And then plug my mobile in for me? Madeleine would never. Gods, I’m about to get a right bollocking upstairs, aren’t I?  </em></p><p>Joey closes his eyes, mentally preparing himself for a confrontation while mustering up the courage to leave the safety and protection of the bedroom, but as fate would have it, the doorknob turns at the very moment he places his hand over it to finally step outside. He startles from the precipitousness of it, jumping back with raised hackles.</p><p>The door creaks open and, all at once, the blood drains from Joey’s ashen face. </p><p>
  <em> Henry.  </em>
</p><p>Henry, who does <em>not </em>look surprised to see him. Henry, holding up a plate of dry toast. Henry, standing there with a fond smile, twinkling eyes, and those perfectly messy curls spilling over his forehead. <em> Gods, even when he’s not trying at all, like </em> at all <em> he looks good. Which reminds me… </em></p><p>“Oh cock. Shite,” Joey gasps, whipping his head to the side and shielding himself with a hand. “Don’t look at me right now! I look like a fucking corpse.” Henry chortles, reaching for Joey’s hand to pull it away from his face. Joey struggles a little, his pleas ineffectual as Henry turns him by the chin. He blinks rapidly, reluctantly meeting Henry’s mirthful expression. </p><p>“Love, do you honestly think I care about that when I just spent the better part of last night cleaning you up after watching you chunder all over yourself?”</p><p>Joey’s intake of breath is so sudden that he chokes on his own saliva. He drops down on the bed, a hand on his chest, clearing his throat. </p><p>“I’m sorry, what?” He croaks. Henry sighs and pushes the plate at him. </p><p> “Here, eat this,” he says. Joey takes it, staring dumbfounded. Henry chuckles again. “It’s only toast, love. I promise.” </p><p>“I—I…” Joey shakes himself out of his initial shock, setting the plate aside and burying his face in his hands. “I’m <em> so </em> confused. When...ah, last night? How? You weren’t supposed to be here yet!” Henry sidles up next to him, once again shoving the plate at Joey’s chest, though with greater force this time. </p><p>“If you eat this, I’ll explain.” Joey begrudgingly grabs it from him, forcing himself to take a bite amid the shame-induced nausea bubbling in his gut. </p><p>“So, I got back sometime after midnight because I couldn’t wait even a minute longer than I had to, but when I got inside Madeleine and Paul were on the sofa watching telly while you were slumped sideways over the armchair. </p><p>
  <em> Fuck.  </em>
</p><p>Joey’s expresion turns sour. He tries to set the food down, but Henry pushes it back with the shake of his head. Sighing, he takes another small bite. It feels and tastes like chalk in his mouth. </p><p>“Did...did they seem upset with me?” He asks around a crumbly mouthful. </p><p>“Not really. They obviously didn’t want to leave you alone like that, but they looked guilty more than anything.” Joey nearly drops his toast. </p><p>“Guilty?” </p><p>“I think they felt responsible for what happened.” </p><p>“Oh gods, but why? It’s not like they forced it down my throat. I’m the one that went all in to get mortal.” Henry’s lips form a thin line. </p><p>“Madeleine sent me a picture of you sat in my gaming chair. You were holding a bottle of Chambord and a fireplace poker like an orb and scepter.” </p><p>Joey chews his toast and stares at Henry with an unreadable expression. “Well did I at least have a crown?” He finally asks, flicking away the crumbs from his fingers. Henry’s lip quivers, the hint of a smile breaking through. </p><p>“Of course you did. You got into the Christmas crackers.” </p><p>Joey’s mouth falls open in shock, his eyes shining, devastated. <em> How could I have committed such an atrocity?  </em></p><p>“O...kay, I can see why they might feel guilty, even though they shouldn’t. They’re not responsible for me.” Henry smirks, eyes glinting mischievously.</p><p>“From what I gather, you were acting like a naughty child while they were keen to go off and be <em>naughty adults.”</em> Joey slaps a palm to his forehead and groans. </p><p>“I ruined their entire night, didn’t I?” Henry shrugs.</p><p>“I dunno about that. You at least managed to keep from getting sick until I was there. When we brought you downstairs that’s when it all began.”</p><p>“Erm, ‘we’?” Henry looks sheepish.</p><p>“My hamstring’s still healing, so Paul had to carry you.”</p><p>“Yeah, no, I definitely cocked it up. They’re proper radge, no doubt.” </p><p>“Madeleine <em> may </em>have looked a bit piqued, but Paul...eh, it’s hard to upset him. When he put you down on the bed, that’s when you lost it and upswallowed all over yourself. He didn’t even say anything. He just picked you back up and stuck you in the shower, clothes and all.” Joey’s face heats up. </p><p>“Gods, I’m going to have to do something nice for him, aren’t I? I’m sure he thinks I’m a total plonker after all that.” Henry sniffs and crosses his arms, biceps huge and bulging in their display. </p><p>“Well he didn’t <em> have </em>to carry you to the shower. I might’ve taken care of all that.” Joey raises an eyebrow. </p><p>“And how would you’ve manage it?” Henry glances away in a manner of side-eyed contempt. </p><p>“By stripping you for starters. He made it worse for me, actually. D’y’know how difficult it is to remove sopping wet clothes?” The corner of Joey’s mouth turns up. </p><p>“You sound a little jealous, darling.” Henry outright scowls at him.</p><p>“Finish your toast,” he grumps.  </p><p>Joey forces the last few bites down and then refills his water glass. Henry follows him over to the sink, crowding him against it. Joey smiles as he drinks. </p><p>“Blimey, you <em> are </em>jealous.” </p><p>“Shut up,” Henry grunts with no real heat. “I only missed you. We’ve yet to properly say hello.” Joey sets the glass down and turns, letting Henry hitch him up into his arms, using the leverage of the vanity to keep weight off his injury. Joey’s slim legs envelop Henry’s hips, arms doing the same to his shoulders. Then he leans in, letting their foreheads touch as he inhales deeply and nudges Henry’s cheek with his nose. </p><p>“Hello, then,” he whispers against Henry’s mouth before closing the gap. It’s slow and thorough, tongues meeting in long sweeping strokes followed by tiny kitten licks and then lips sipping delicately. </p><p>“Did I know you were there last night?” Henry smiles wryly, running his hands up and down Joey’s back, scratching gently. </p><p>“No. You were blacked out, love,” he coos. Joey makes a pained noise. </p><p>“Eh, I thought so.” Henry cups his cheek, petting at his scruff with a gentle thumb before running it along his lower lip. </p><p>“You, erm, you kept calling Paul ‘pet.’” Joey face reddens once more. <em> Oh fuck. What?  </em></p><p>“Agh. No! I do that shit when I’m pissed. It’s like I’ve gone back home and I can’t control it. Suddenly it’s ‘howay’ this and ‘pet’ that.” </p><p>Henry’s fingers, which had moved down along Joey’s sides, slip into the stretchy waistband of his joggers, toying with it. </p><p>“You didn’t call me ‘pet.’” Joey cringes.</p><p>“I’m <em> glad. </em> It’s so completely <em> ...archaic </em>and I swear it makes me sound like an old codger who’s behind on the times.” </p><p>“What, you think it’s degrading?” </p><p>“Erm, in the right context, yeah.” </p><p>Henry lowers Joey’s waistband, letting it snug up under his balls as he takes hold of his cock. </p><p>“I’m going to stroke you and you’re going to moan “cheers, pet” while I do it, yes?” Joey snorts.</p><p>“I’m sorry. You want me to thank you? Because that’s all it is, just a way of thanking someone. Why would I say that while you’re—” </p><p>“Because,” Henry interjects. He reaches into his own track pants, pulling out his fully engorged and weeping cock, brushing it against Joey’s, which makes him whimper from the sudden stimulation. </p><p>“‘Because’ is not an answer,” he says breathlessly. Henry leans in and bites at the juncture where his jaw and neck meet. </p><p>“Because that’s what you said to Paul when he carried you down here,” he whispers haughtily in his ear. Joey pulls back to see his face. </p><p>“Oh fuck, darling. Why don’t we just skip all that and you can throw me down and show me who I belong to, hm?” Henry pauses his ministrations and makes a frustrated noise, hanging his head. </p><p>“I would, but I can’t do much more than the bloody starfish. I feel so <em> fucking </em> useless right now.” Joey’s brow furrows in contemplation. </p><p>“What is it?” Henry asks. Joey eyes the garment bag hanging from a nearby hook. He bites his lip. <em> It’s now or never, honestly.  </em></p><p>“I think right now would be a good time to exchange our gifts.” </p><p>“Oh yeah? Is it—?” Joey takes a shuddering breath.</p><p>“Go lay on the bed,” he says in a low, resolute voice. A flare of nervous anticipation rises through him, for Joey is well aware that he’s  come upon a crossroads, with either direction promising something revelatory.  </p><p>“Do it now, before I lose my nerve.”</p>
<hr/><p>Joey stares determinedly at himself in the mirror, palms grazing along the velvet covering his thighs, his hips, his waist, all the way up to his chest and shoulders.</p><p>It’s been a <em> while </em>since he’s worn a dress. </p><p>Almost a year, maybe? </p><p>It feels like coming home—</p><p>Much like Henry’s scent nested in the pillows, the reverberation of Madeleine's chest when she hums, the feel of the fretboard after breaking a callus and having to let the skin heal before he can play again. </p><p>The fabric, the cut of the dress, the way it gathers and hugs his skin—all of these features make him feel sexy, svelte. </p><p>
  <em> Fucking beautiful.  </em>
</p><p>He can only hope that Henry might see him and think similarly. It’s the singular thought that plagues him while he takes a pair of shears to his beard, trimming back the mustache hair that touches at his upper lip unevenly. A quick pluck of the eyebrows and then he’s blending some tinted moisturizer under his eyes to even his complexion. </p><p>Madeleine would do a much better job, he’s fully aware, but he wants to do it himself this time. <em> It’s…important. </em> </p><p>“Can I take off my clothes?” Henry yells from the other side of the door. Joey’s hand slips and the lipstick he had begun to carefully apply smears along the corner of his mouth.</p><p>“Bollocks,” he curses under his breath, grabbing a tissue to quickly wipe it away. “Eh, yeah...whatever makes you, erm, comfortable.” Henry groans impatiently. </p><p>“I’m literally sitting on my hands so I won’t touch myself, love.” Joey swallows hard, clears his throat in an attempt to steady his voice. </p><p>“Patience, darling. I’m almost done.” </p><p>
  <em> What if he sees me and he’s totally turned off? What if he’s...disgusted?  </em>
</p><p>Joey sets his jaw and breathes deeply, forcing the tears away. </p><p>
  <em> We should’ve discussed it first. I should’ve...this isn’t fair to him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I mean he saw the album cover and never said anything. Maybe that’s good?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Does he really need to see that in person?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Yes.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Yes, because it’s a part of me. A very, very important part of me and to hide it or suppress it would be giving into...</em>
</p><p>
  <em> ...Mum. </em>
</p><p>Joey’s hand shakes faintly as he presses colour to his lips in careful, sweeping arcs. A cold, despondent voice creeps into his head, femenine and posh, completely uncaring.</p><p>
  <em> There’s something wrong with you. </em>
</p><p>The eyeliner is tricky. His hand grows more and more unsteady as he drags it along his upper lash line. The voice evolves into an image. A middle-aged woman with those wide, round eyes and thin, pouty lips—features that are more than familiar to him—seated at an empty kitchen table. The lights dimmed, a highball glass in hand, pupils dilated, body shaking with pure ire. </p><p>
  <em> Always. You’ve always been a disgrace, you bloody...poofter.   </em>
</p><p>Joey’s eyelashes are too wet for mascara, so he forgoes it. It looks a little underdone, but he’d rather not start out with raccoon eyes. </p><p>“How goes it, love?” Henry prods impatiently. </p><p>“I’ll be ready when I’m ready,” Joey admonishes while shoving his stocking feet into his Doc Martens. </p><p>It’s silly to wear them, he thinks, especially since they’re just going to be removed right away, if all goes to plan. Though it does make quite the statement: dirty combat boots peeking from the slit in a floor length skirt that leads up into a ruched bodice framed with a sweetheart neckline and dramatic mutton sleeves. </p><p>
  <em> The greatest gift he’s ever received. </em>
</p><p>Madeleine had said so. She was sure of it, so Joey needed to be as well.  </p><p><em> Because it’s </em>you. </p><p>
  <em> Yes. That’s it. </em>
</p><p><em> Because it’s </em>me. </p><p>
  <em> And he loves me.  </em>
</p><p>Joey takes one last deep breath, bracing the edge of the sink. If things go south...if…</p><p>...if Henry’s upset or...or angry…</p><p><em> God, </em> but he can’t even bear the thought. <em> He can’t. </em></p><p>“Are you ready, darling?” He yells, voice nearly cracking in distress. Henry mutters something in the affirmative and Joey shuts off the light, wanting to appear from total darkness. His palm sweats around the doorknob, heart clamoring in his throat, the beat an echoing drum in his ears. He swallows, eyes fluttering closed, teeth worrying his painted lip. </p><p>Bursting through the door, he backs up against it, panting. </p><p>“Joey?” Says Henry in a neutral tone and in return, Joey, with his eyes squeezed tight, whispers what he’s been waiting to say all month:</p><p>“Happy Christmas, darling.” </p><p>The sound of his own breathing rattles loudly amid the silence.</p><p>
  <em> Oh fuck. Oh fuck. He’s not— </em>
</p><p>The bed creaks and there’s the padding of feet across the floor, stopping in front of him. He can feel heat emanating from Henry as his rigid cock grazes Joey’s pelvis, causing him to inhale sharply, and then there’s the warm, moist puff of Henry’s breath ghosting across his face. </p><p>“Open your eyes, my love,” Henry coos gently; and like a skittish colt, Joey flinches, lashes fluttering as they part. </p><p>Henry’s mouth hangs open slightly as his fingers skate along Joey’s exposed collarbones, eyes tracking the movements. He flicks at the puffy sleeves and then traces down along the edge of the neckline, where coarse hair meets soft material. </p><p>“This is for me?” Henry inquires, voice husky and suggesting something profound like reverence or adulation. Joey swallows, nodding. He groans wantonly when Henry’s thumbs graze along his nipples. Henry keeps them there, teasing them into hard nubs and Joey gives a full body shudder.</p><p>“D—do you like it?” He murmurs tremulously. Henry’s palms glide down to his waist, fondling the ruching there. </p><p>“Yes,” Henry answers, and the decisiveness in his tone, complete and unmistakable, causes Joey to sink against the door in relief. Henry presses a feathery kiss to Joey’s mouth, hand sliding down his toned thigh, feeling the soft, wiry hair that the top of the slit exposes. “Did you think I wouldn’t?” </p><p>Joey shrugs and stammers, “I—I didn’t know what to think, really.” He reaches forward with a thumb to wipe the bright crimson stain from Henry’s lips, but Henry takes it between his teeth, emitting a tiny growl. </p><p>“I will admit,” he murmurs after releasing Joey’s captive appendage. “I hadn’t given it much thought and if you had asked me before, I wouldn’t have known what to say.” </p><p>Joey’s breath stutters, stomach curling in apprehension from the new uncertainty in Henry’s voice, but as it turns out, Henry is all too aware of Joey’s lack of confidence. He wraps his arms around Joey, running his palms down to the globes of his compact arse, the fabric stretched tight around it. </p><p>“It wasn’t something I’d ever considered I might go for, but now,” he pushes Joey against the door, his erection caugh between them as Joey’s dress becomes prominently tented, “you’re here and this looks like it was made for no one else but you. Fuck, <em> love, </em>you look stunning.” Joey grins. </p><p>“Thank you, darling. Madeleine made it for me.”</p><p>“Oh, then of course it fits perfectly. She’s an absolute legend.”</p><p>“You like that it’s tight?” Henry chuckles.</p><p><em> “God, yes, </em>it…” Henry gingerly lowers himself to his knees, palms curving around to Joey’s hips. A hand finds its way underneath the slit, rubbing his thighs. “It makes me want to just turn you around, rip this in half and then stick you with my cock.” </p><p>Joey chokes on a moan, hips bucking forward with how much he wants it. “Oh <em> fuck, </em>darling, I could cum just thinking about it.” He bites his lip, taking hold of Henry’s hand and slowly dragging it up his thigh. “But what will you do about...these?” </p><p>Henry’s fingers brush against scalloped lace. He freezes, his jaw dropping as he blinks up at Joey. He lifts the dress higher, the fabric bunching until he’s faced with a pair of satin knickers, the lace that he initially touched part of what lines the edges. There’s a large wet spot right where the tip of Joey’s cock strains against the front and Henry holds his gaze as he places a soft kiss against it before nuzzling with his cheek. Joey makes a strangled, gasping noise that ends on a harsh moan. </p><p>“Oh<em>...</em><em>gods...” </em>He whimpers. Henry’s gaze flicks upwards again. His mouth moves from Joey’s needy cock to the sharp jut of a hip bone, nipping at it before using his teeth to pull the material down far enough so he can suck a bruise into the skin there. Joey’s breath stutters and he bites his lip against the tears that well up suddenly. </p><p>“Why are you crying?” Henry hums, sliding the delicate panties back into place and repeating the same action with Joey’s other hip. Joey’s head falls back against the door, a soft whine escaping him.</p><p>“Because you’re being so<em>...</em><em>tender </em>with me.” Henry makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat, surveying his handiwork. </p><p>“I’m just admiring your knickers, love. Do you not want me to?” He licks along the ridge of Joey’s cock, tasting the damp satin. </p><p>“No, I do. I love it, but it’s<em>...</em><em>fuck. </em> It’s got me blubbering.” Henry gives him a patient smile. </p><p>“Turn around,” he rumbles, maneuvering his lover to spin and face the door. </p><p>“Wait, what—” Joey’s hands and cheek hit the door as Henry takes him by the hips so his arse is out on display. “Are you going to give me my present now?” Henry laughs darkly and Joey shivers when he slips his index finger under the waistband, coaxing the  undergarment to slip down his legs and pool at the dirty ankles of his combat boots. </p><p>“Fuck, this would make a lovely picture.” As if to emphasize his point, Henry runs his teeth along Joey’s arse cheek, biting at the sensitive underside where it meets his leg. </p><p>“Shit. Henry!” He yelps. Henry moves to the other cheek, nipping and sucking and massaging with his hands. “Oh <em> gods, </em>are you go—hoh fuck, you’re gonna eat me out, aren’t you?” </p><p>“Mm, yeah,” he confirms, teasing his thumbs along the edge of Joey’s crack, back and forth, but never quite moving in. “But not yet.” </p><p>“Why not?” Joey whines, licking his lips in anticipation. Henry sighs in defeat.</p><p>“Because I can’t stay in this position any longer without straining my leg.” He groans, setting Joey’s clothing to right before levering himself up. Joey turns and immediately brings his arms around Henry’s neck, clinging to him, delights in the way Henry’s chest rumbles with that noise he makes when angry at himself. </p><p>“I’m sorry. My leg’s a total pain in the arse right now and I can’t—“ Joey places a finger to his lips.</p><p>“Shh.” He walks Henry over to the bed. “Sit here,” he commands, pressing down on his trapezius muscles. Henry goes quietly and without fuss. Joey crouches between his legs, rubbing at thick, bulging thighs. </p><p>“Just relax,” he whispers, hands wrapping lovingly around Henry’s dick, flushed nearly purple and hot to the touch. He smiles, presses his puckered lips to the tip and they both watch as he pulls away, leaving a messy ring of lipstick in his wake. Henry’s groan is deep seated and Joey revels in the vibrations of it. </p><p>“Do you like my makeup, daring?” Joey asks innocently, batting his eyelashes. Henry nods wordlessly. He cups Joey’s cheek, slides his fingers through his hair and tugs. Joey smirks. </p><p>“Good,” he whispers against Henry’s cock, peeking his tongue out to lick from root to tip, following the branchy vein that flares along the lengthy expanse. </p><p>“Now I want you to cum all over it, cover my pretty face with your spunk, pet.” Henry’s eyes go wide, legs tensing up for a moment, but Joey gentles them, rubbing until they go slack. </p><p>“So fucking close, love,” Henry breathes, voice already thinned out from pleasure. </p><p>“That’s alright, pet,” Joey winks and gives him a few teasing pumps. </p><p>Henry <em> whimpers, </em>falling back on his arms with hooded eyes while Joey goes to town on his cock, licking all over with his tongue, getting it good and wet. </p><p>And to Joey’s great amusement, Henry’s already bucking off the bed, so he lets up for a moment to mouth along his balls, which are drawn up achingly tight, ready for release. </p><p>“Please, Joey,” Henry gasps. “Fuck, I want to cum so badly. No more teasing, <em> please.”  </em></p><p>“You want to already?” Joey feigns shock. “But I haven’t even got any fingers in you.” Henry all but whines. </p><p>“Literally, just put it in your mouth and I’m done for.” </p><p>In response, Joey wraps his fingers around the base and sucks the tip into his mouth with a moan. He hollows his cheeks, slipping farther down until it hits his throat. He bobs his head and twists his hand in time, quickly finding a rhythm for Henry’s sake. </p><p>From what Joey has learned thus far in their relationship, Henry is not one for speaking in bed. That’s not to say he isn’t <em> vocal, </em> for the deep, gritty moans and groans that turn broken as he crests are enough to push Joey over the edge most of the time. But it’s Joey who does the talking, babbles out pure filth and sweet nothings, announces his impending climax because <em> he can’t fucking help it, </em>the way Henry’s so masterful at getting him off. </p><p>So it must be sheer desperation, Joey concludes when Henry throws his head back and grips tight at Joey’s hair, guiding him as the words pour forth from his lips. </p><p>“Oh <em> fuck, </em>songbird, mmm. Wanna ruin your gorgeous face. Mark you with my spunk. Want you to smell like it.” </p><p>Desire burns through Joey’s gut. He reaches down with his free hand to palm himself, though it’s but a  modicum of relief. He pulls off Henry’s cock with a loud, suctioning smack of the lips, doubling down on the jerking. </p><p>“Yeah?” He murmurs, voice rich and velvety over the slick sound his hand makes. “You want Paul to see what you’ve done? Hm? Would you like that, pet?” </p><p>Henry lets out a keening moan, hips rising up, toes curling against the edge of the bed. </p><p>“Want him to know you’re mine,” he admits breathlessly. “Hated it when he held you. Wanted it to be me.”</p><p>“I know, my darling. Now show me. Show me who I belong to.” Henry gasps and then releases several quick grunts in succession as Joey wrenches an orgasm from him, receiving a splatter of hot, milky seed in exchange for his efforts. It goes on and on, Joey coaxing out thick ropes of the sticky fluid, which lands on his cheeks, his eyebrows, in his beard, on the tip of his nose. Finally, Henry collapses, legs shaking as the last bit of spend trickles out. </p><p>“Oh good lord, that was so good,” Henry cries, voice breaking into a delirious laugh. He lifts up slightly on his elbows and Joey’s never seen him looking so utterly cum drunk. </p><p>“<em>So good,” </em>Joey murmurs, echoing his sentiment. He runs his fingers through the mess on his face, gathering as much as he can before bringing it to his mouth and licking it off greedily. “Mmmm,” he moans. “Happy Christmas to me.” </p><p>“Come up here,” Henry beckons with a finger. Joey clambers onto the bed, careful to avoid his leg. He curves himself over Henry who pulls him in by the chin for a dirty kiss. He reaches down to gather up Joey’s skirts, drawing them up as he runs a hand along the back of his naked thigh. He rubs and squeezes at Joey’s bum while he circles his tongue in Joey’s mouth. With a final nip to his lips, Henry smacks a pert arse cheek and grins when Joey yelps. </p><p>“Go wash that off before it dries, hm?” Joey blinks.</p><p>“Oh, erm, are we—are we done?” He asks sheepishly. Henry chuckles. </p><p>“We’re nowhere near.” </p>
<hr/><p>Joey can’t help but smile at the utter mess Henry’s made of his face. His lipstick is smudged around his mouth and cheeks, eyeliner streaked under his eyes, all of which glistens with a fine layer of cum. After cleaning up and then ridding himself of the Doc Martens, Joey slides onto the bed, letting Henry pull him into a warm embrace. He curls his calf around Henry’s, brushing their feet together. Henry puckers his lips comically and Joey giggles, meeting him for a kiss. He sighs contentedly, though his cock stays semi-erect, being so close to his lover, touching his skin and breathing in his scent after being apart for weeks on end. </p><p>“I missed you so much,” Henry whispers in earnest as Joey mouths along his sandpapery jaw. “And I love my gift.” </p><p>“Are you sure you’re not just saying that?” Joey mutters, lips tickling at Henry’s cheek. Henry retracts, firmly cupping Joey’s chin. </p><p>“You were scared I wouldn’t?” Joey swallows, averting his gaze. “Oh, <em> Joey.”  </em></p><p>“I know. I know. I just—“</p><p>“I want you to be yourself with me, <em> always. </em>No matter what that entails. Alright?” </p><p>“Okay, but like, what if...what if I want to wear this...in public?” Henry kisses his forehead. </p><p>“Do you honestly think I’d say ‘No. I don’t want you to.’?”</p><p>“I dunno,” Joey answers with a shrug. “I suppose I’m just…” he huffs, “I’ve got my own hang-ups.” </p><p>Henry kisses him, breathing into his mouth and gently sweeping his thumb along Joey’s beard. </p><p>“Regardless of what you decide, I think you should wear it upstairs” He murmurs. “That way I can stare at these sexy shoulders while we have dinner.” He leans down, nipping hard at the bony length of his clavicle. </p><p>“Oh gods, I love you,” Joey mewls. “I love you <em> so </em>much.” Henry breathes against his neck, licking along his carotid artery.</p><p>“I love you too,” he declares. Running a hand along Joey’s leg until he reaches the edge of the panties, Henry drags a finger underneath the elastic, teasing along the edge. “And this is a bonus gift.” </p><p>Joey’s breath hitches, eyes welling with tears again and as they fall Henry kisses them away. “I have something to confess though,” he whispers. Joey makes an inquisitive noise. Henry smirks. “I’ve got a bonus gift for you too.” Joey sniffles and clears his throat. </p><p>“Oh yeah?” </p><p>“Mm. You see, I was thinking about it one evening”—he chuffs—“actually it’s what I think about most evenings, but well, I know how badly you want to take my cock—“</p><p>“What do you mean?” Joey interjects. “I take it just fine.” Henry frowns.</p><p>“It hurts you. I know it does and yet you’re so stubborn, you pout until I fuck you though the pain.” Joey shrugs.</p><p>“Erm, yeah, it’s anal sex. Of course it’s going to hurt <em> a little. </em>I don’t mind, though. I just want your cock in me.” Henry brings their heads together. </p><p>“It’s not <em> supposed </em>to hurt,” Henry explains without being patronizing. “I want you to enjoy it.” Joey quirks an eyebrow. </p><p>“I do enjoy it.” Henry smirks.</p><p>“No, love. I mean <em> really, really </em>enjoy it.” Joey huffs in frustration. </p><p>“But we already go <em> so slow </em> when you open me up and we’ve tried all sorts of positions. I don’t know what else—“ Henry silences him with a kiss, quelling his sudden burst of anxiety. </p><p>“I’m going to take care of you. Do you trust me?” Joey searches Henry’s face. His skin is slightly windburned from the cold, the thin lines along his forehead and at the corner of his eyes appearing deeper. Joey kisses each one before rubbing their noses together.</p><p>“Yes,” Joey whispers. “Yes, of course I trust you.” </p><p>Henry’s eyes narrow lasciviously. He growls, using an index finger to snap the elastic of Joey’s panties, which makes him squirm. </p><p>“Get on your hands and knees.” </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Slippery Elm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Fuck the mince pies,” Joey groans. “Just get inside me!”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a mess. I’m sorry. Like, it’s all over the place, but I can’t stall any longer. </p>
<p>Also, um, it’s pure filth. Like so extremely filthy. I’m never really affected by my own writing, but I actually found myself blushing a few times while editing this one.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>VI.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Slippery Elm</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And I can't be running back and forth forever between grief and high delight.</p>
<p>                  — <em> Franny and Zooey  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Has he ever been so awkwardly turned on in front of other people before? Joey racks his brain for an answer, a point of focus that he can cling to whilst ruffling the length of his dress to an excessive degree. </p>
<p>Anything to dull the keen sense of awareness that there is, in fact, a giant silicone butt plug shoved up his arse. </p>
<p>Okay, so it’s not actually <em> giant, </em>he admits to himself when reaching for his water glass causes it to nudge along his prostate. He clenches the cloth napkin in his lap. </p>
<p>
  <em> It certainly fucking feels like it, though.  </em>
</p>
<p>Taking a large gulp of water, Joey’s eyes lock with Henry’s over the dining table. </p>
<p>The plug moves again as he sets the glass down. </p>
<p>It’s such an unusual sensation in that spot, somewhere between pleasure and pain and if the pressure increases he can’t decide whether he has an urge to pee, take himself in hand, or both. </p>
<p>And his face must give it away because Henry <em> winks </em> at him as he shoves a forkful of fish pie into his mouth. He slides his toes along the inside of Joey’s ankle, tickling him while engaged in conversation with Madeleine and Paul, but the flash of his teeth lets Joey know his thoughts lie… </p>
<p>
  <em> ...in the previous hour... </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Get on your hands and knees.”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> The conviction in Henry’s deep, canorous voice brushed along Joey’s spine, as if he’d breathed it down the back of his neck. It was a domino effect, the hair on his forearms rising, nipples hardening, arsehole puckering in anticipation of Henry’s careful regard.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> And it truly was careful because soon after, his limbs were jostled, pushed and pulled, so that his arse was poised directly in front of Henry’s face as he lay stretched out comfortably on the bed. While attempting to gain balance, Joey’s head nearly collided with Henry’s flaccid cock. He caught himself with an elbow in the mattress, but after a moment's hesitation, leaned down to press kisses all over Henry’s groin.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “God, I love this entire...just all of this...right here,” he mumbled, mouthing at Henry’s balls, his cock, the crook of his hip, the furling of pubic hair that spreads out like a fan.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Henry issued a stinging slap to his arse.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Pay attention,” he instructed sternly over the sound of Joey’s yelping cry. He rubbed a soothing hand along Joey’s lower back, the other clasping his hip while he ran his teeth over the swell of his left cheek and then the right. As Henry kissed and then nipped everywhere from Joey’s tailbone to the backs of his thighs, Joey forced himself to exhale slowly.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Is this alright?” He asked shakily, lowering himself to his forearms. Henry made a noncommittal noise. And just when Joey was about to ask, “Pretty please, can I lick your balls?” Henry was knocking at his knees. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Spread for me,” he murmured, and Joey did. “Mm, there’s a good boy.” Joey choked on an inhale, body tensing up. Henry tisked. “No, no, relax.” Joey took a calming breath, muscles uncoiling.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Shall we count how many times you tell me that today?” Henry snorted, slipping his thumbs between Joey’s cheeks to part them. It was visceral, the moment when his sensitive hole clenched in the exposed air, winking at Henry.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He emitted a pleased little rumble, Henry did, and then Joey felt his warm breath closing in.  </em>
</p>
<p><em> “Mm, not that I don’t enjoy it, but you do know that you don’t </em> have <em> to shave here, right, love?”  </em></p>
<p>
  <em> Joey had never felt such intense burning in his cheeks.  </em>
</p>
<p><em> “Erm...n—no, I do...have to. You’ve </em> seen <em> my chest, yeah? My fucking pubes?” Henry chuffed. </em></p>
<p>
  <em> “I’m sure it’s fine,” he whispered before licking all the way from Joey’s tailbone down to the underside of his balls.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Oh,” his voice cracked. “It’s really not!”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Henry placed a firm kiss directly to Joey’s hole, making it clench.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Why? You think I’d care?” He traced the tip of his tongue in slow circles along the outer edge, getting him used to the feeling, and Joey’s toes curled. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Mmf. Fuck. Yeah, if my exes are any indication.” Henry paused his tongue motions. </em>
</p>
<p><em> “Tossers, the lot of them,” he grumbled, kissing Joey’s hole again. “I love </em> all <em> of you, do you understand? I don’t care if it looks like you’ve got one of those gonk trolls stuck up your arse, I’ll eat you for fucking breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses—“ Joey laughed breathlessly.  </em></p>
<p>
  <em> “Henry!” He whined, blushing even harder as Henry licked at him with the flat of his tongue and then began to wiggle it inside. “Ugh! How are you real? Argh! I’m so...embarrassed.”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Mm?”  </em>
</p>
<p><em> “You—hah—clean up my puke. Oh fuck.” Joey curled his fingers into the covers. “And now you talk about my bum hair like it’s...like it’s </em> cute <em> or something!” </em></p>
<p>
  <em> “Mmm.” Henry slapped his flank. “It probably is.” Joey squealed. </em>
</p>
<p><em> “You weird, </em> weird <em> man!”  </em></p>
<p>
  <em> Henry continued to work his tongue in and around Joey’s hole, sucking and prodding and licking until Joey shook from it, delirious.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Joey wanted to just collapse and grind his weeping cock against Henry’s hard tummy, in the dip between his ab muscles, but of course Henry wouldn’t let him, holding him firmly in place with a vice like grip.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Gods, please!” He cried, hearing the sound of Henry uncapping the lube.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “You know...it’s rather amusing,” Henry said as a leading sort of statement that Joey, of course, rose to with a dreadful groan.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “What is?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Henry chuckled wickedly. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “That you’re expecting me to get you off soon.” He brought a slippery finger to Joey’s lush hole, smearing lube around the swollen, red ring and then gently easing inside.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Immediately, Joey tensed, and not just because of the intrusion. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “You...you’re not?”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Oh, love. You’ve got no idea what you’re in for.” </em>
</p>
<p>A loud, booming bark completely blindsides him, throwing him off his axis as he shifts away from his thoughts. He startles in his seat, the plug pushing hard against his prostate, bringing him back to full awareness with a sharp breath from the tingle shooting through his groin. </p>
<p>“Hello dear, are you here to beg for food?” Madeleine coos at the oversized ball of fur that sits between her and Joey. He places his head in her lap and she takes the opportunity to adjust the felt reindeer antlers on his head. </p>
<p>“Kal,” Henry chides. “C’mon. You know better.”</p>
<p>Madeleine looks into Kal’s quivering eyes, two little lumps of coal that have the power to fill even the grinchiest of hearts with the Christmas spirit. </p>
<p>“Sorry, darling,” she murmurs with a frown. Kal whines and moves over to Joey’s lap. </p>
<p>“Oh no, love. You don’t want any of this. Trust me,” Joey whispers, wrinkling his nose. </p>
<p>
  <em> What is this country’s obsession with eating fish on Christmas Eve?  </em>
</p>
<p>Kal whines again. </p>
<p>“Go lay down, pig,” Henry orders in a firm voice. </p>
<p>Kal whimpers, tucking his tail between his legs. Joey, Madeleine, and Paul all watch as he leaves the room, the atmosphere plummeting, reaching into the abyss where gloom and doom lay. </p>
<p>They stare at their plates in collective silence until, finally, Henry rolls his eyes and sighs. </p>
<p>“Kal,” he calls out before whistling twice.</p>
<p>He scampers back into the room, the bells on his antlers jingling, tongue hanging out as he pants excitedly. </p>
<p>“Go ahead,” Henry grumbles at Madeleine. She emits a soft squeak, clapping her hands. Paul chuckles and Joey watches in amusement as she feeds Kal bits of her crust. </p>
<p>Paul mentions how much he loves dog sitting for his friends and soon the conversation turns into an idle chatter about dog breeds.</p>
<p>Joey squirms and shivers in his chair, clenching around the plug,  fussing with his dress again in attempt to conceal it. </p>
<p>Madeleine glances at him from the corner of her eye and Joey can tell by her double, no, <em> triple </em> take that she’s aware that something is happening. <em> Fuck. She’s like the Eye of Sauron with that nosy little glint.  </em></p>
<p>Though Paul quickly shifts her attention, putting an end to her keen surveillance. Henry scratches at his sandpapery stubble, combs his fingers though unruly curls, and laughs at something Paul muttered under his breath. His forehead and cheeks look wind roughened and there’s something in his eyes, rooted from within, that speaks of exhaustion. </p>
<p>
  <em> So then, there’s going to be a whole lot of cock sucking and massaging going on this week. It’s the only way to keep him in bed.  </em>
</p>
<p>Joey’s toes curl at the prospect, the plug grazing his sensitive insides once more. </p>
<p>
  <em> …“Oh, love. You’ve got no idea what you’re in for.”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> ”What do you mean? Gods, Henry, the suspense is killing me!”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Suddenly, the drawer at Henry’s bedside wooshed open and it was Pavlovian, the way Joey’s arms broke out in goosebumps at the sound.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Can I see?” He asked tremulously.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Not right now,” Henry said. “First I’m going to use my fingers, alright?” Joey nodded. “Yes or no, love?”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Yes. Yes, yes,” Joey mewled, a rumble of contentment springing from Henry’s chest. He started with his index finger, going slow.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> If there’s one thing Joey’s taught him in their time together, it’s that talking quells his anxiety. Of course, then, Henry discovered that it works just as well in the bedroom.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “So I’ve got a set of plugs here. They’re a soft, silicone and they...vary in size.”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Joey tenses up a little as Henry adds a second finger, sliding deeper inside.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Shh. Relax, love,” he whispered. “We’ll start small and work our way up, hm?”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “How—how many are there?”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Three.”<br/>
</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Joey shuddered. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Oh. What...what if I can’t—“  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Then we won’t,” Henry explained with a loving kiss to the dip in Joey’s spine. “I will never hurt you. Ever. If you’re not ready, if it’s uncomfortable, or you don’t like it, I’ll stop. Do you understand?”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Yes.” Henry kissed down to his tailbone.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Good boy,” he grunted, crooking his fingers to pet gently over that hard bump of nerve endings inside Joey.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Haaah—my god.” Joey bucked his hips. “It’s so…so…” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Henry removed his fingers.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “It’s so what?”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I...I don’t know!” Joey lamented, rubbing his face in Henry’s crotch. Henry cooed sympathetically. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “So the first one’s rather small, actually,” he explained in a calm, collected voice. Joey perked up at the cold, slick press of it as Henry ran the length along his hole.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Feel it?”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Yes. Oh. That—maybe...we could probably start with a bigger one?”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Hmm, let’s see about this first.” The tip breeched easily, but Henry, true to his word, moved slowly and steadily, warming the plug, gently coaxing it, letting his rim spread around the bulbous middle as his hole sucked it in all the way down to the flared base.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “There,” Henry murmured, rubbing Joey’s flank. “How does that feel?”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Joey rocked his hips forward and back, clenching and unclenching around it. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “It’s, erm, I mean it’s...there?” Henry chuckled. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Yes, I know. I put it there. Do you feel full? Like it’s all you can take? That’s what I meant.”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “O-oh,” Joey mumbled bashfully. “Fuck. Sorry. Erm, but not really, no.”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Alright, we’ll try the next one.” Joey nodded and Henry slowly removed the plug. “Do you want to know something?” He very nearly whispered. Joey shuddered.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Mmhm.”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Henry heaved upward and with careful movements, he curled himself around Joey’s back until they were flush together. He nibbled on Joey’s earlobe, emitting a long, drawn out groan, and Joey’s turgid cock wept at the vibrations along his skin, burrowing deep in his muscles.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I love that you’ve got no idea how to play with your arse.” Joey startled, letting out a small squeak.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I’d just...before, I’d never really gone for being on the receiving end and—“  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Henry pitched forward, grabbing his chin to turn him for a kiss. He could feel Henry start to harden against his bum, causing him to moan, loud. </em>
</p>
<p><em> “I love you so much,” Henry breathed, “ I love that you trust me enough to let me do this. That you </em> want <em> me to do this.” Joey nipped at Henry’s bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue.  </em></p>
<p>
  <em> “You like teaching me? Showing me how to make myself feel good?” Henry sucked in a breath. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “God, yes. Fuck, you’re so sexy. Missed you so much, love.”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> As he spoke, Henry started the process over with the next plug, which met a greater resistance from Joey. Henry kissed him through it, murmured words of praise, reminded him to relax, breathe, sink into the feeling.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Oh fuck,” he panted. “Fuck, that feels huge! Is that the biggest one?”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “No,” Henry answered sweetly with a kiss to Joey’s cheek.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Oh my—Henry!”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Don’t worry, love. Remember what I said about slow?” Joey gulped. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Yes, but I don’t think—“ </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Shh. We’re not there yet. You’ll keep this in for a while and then when you’ve loosened up we’ll see about the next one.”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “How long then?”<br/>
</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Henry nosed along his hairline, nuzzling his face in Joey’s clean hair.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Mm, probably through dinner.”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “WHAT?”  </em>
</p>
<p><em> “You’ve got to keep it in so it can stretch you, love.  </em> <em> The next one is...erm..a lot bigger.” Joey whimpered.  </em></p>
<p><em> “Gods, Henry, but what about Madeleine and Paul? They’ll </em>know!” </p>
<p><em> “Only if you </em> tell <em> them.” </em></p>
<p>
  <em> Henry hissed as he rolled off of Joey who then whined in frustration.  </em>
</p>
<p><em> “But they’ll know </em> something dodgy’s going on!”, <em> Henry stretched out, using his elbow to prop himself up, eyes shimmering deviously.  </em></p>
<p>
  <em> “That’s what makes it fun.” He reached out with his free hand, sliding Joey’s knickers back into place before pulling the skirt down to his ankles and finally performing the coup de grâce with a sweet, little pat to the bum.  </em>
</p>
<p>Joey startles when he feels someone’s foot kick him under the table. The plug moves again, passing over in a way that makes him feel ticklish somewhere near his dick. He looks around in alarm. Henry and Madeleine continue to prattle on, seemingly unaware while Paul lifts his head in acknowledgement. </p>
<p>“You alright?” He mouths. Joey nods and promptly looks away. Paul kicks him again. Joey makes a strangled noise in his throat. He’s hovered between soft and semi-erect since he got upstairs, his cock tucked tight into the panties and the ruching plentiful enough to obscure. <em> Blimey, Madeleine really thought of everything, didn’t she?  </em></p>
<p>“What?” He hisses. Paul replies, sotto voce:</p>
<p>“Are you sure?” </p>
<p>“I’m fine.” </p>
<p>He regrets the force behind his voice, the impatience that made him act conspicuously.</p>
<p>“What’s this?” Henry asks without missing a beat. Paul clears his throat.</p>
<p>“Just, erm, making sure Joey’s alright. He looked a bit out of sorts there for a moment.” He searches Joey’s face once again. </p>
<p>“You’re sure you’re fine? You’re not, erm…?”</p>
<p>“Not what?”</p>
<p>“You know...like, ah, yesterday?” Joey shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Not having a panic attack, mate. I’m fine.” </p>
<p>“You had a panic attack?” Henry asks, voice laden with concern. Joey opens his mouth, but Paul beats him to it.</p>
<p>“He was having a bath upstairs and when I went up to bleed the radiator, erm, well I sort of…”</p>
<p>“He put two and two together,” Joey supplies, eager to avoid discussion of Paul’s traumatic experience. </p>
<p>“Oh <em> that’s </em>what was going on,” Madeleine pipes up. “I thought you’d been having a chinwag or something.” Paul chuckles.</p>
<p>“Aye. Joey just waltzed right in in his bathrobe. ‘Yes, hello there. May I lay in your bed so we can chat about the shite weather we’re having?’” Madeleine laughs so hard she has tears in her eyes. </p>
<p>“Well I don’t know, dear. Maybe he wanted a comfy place to lay about?” Paul snorts.</p>
<p>“I suppose I wouldn’t blame him. It <em> is </em>a nice bed.”</p>
<p>Henry freezes with his wine glass midway to his lips. As he seemingly studies the pattern in the table cloth, his nostrils flare, pupils dilating, and Joey purses his lips. </p>
<p>Henry sets his wine glass down with a loud thud and turns to Paul. </p>
<p>“If he wanted a <em> nice </em>bed, mate, he’d come to mine, not yours,” he explains in a low, threatening tone. Paul coughs uncomfortably, his eyes wide, cheeks pinking up. </p>
<p>“Erm, o—okay? There’s plenty of places to have a lie down in—<em> oh…”  </em></p>
<p>Joey rests his forehead to his palm.</p>
<p>Madeleine giggles into her napkin. </p>
<p>“Oh, no mate. That’s not,” he laughs incredulously. “Are you having me on?” </p>
<p>“What do you mean?” Henry asks, suddenly innocent. “My bed <em> is </em>the most comfortable. It’s the kind with the remote and everything.” Paul rolls his eyes.</p>
<p>“Oh, you’re definitely taking the piss.”  </p>
<p>“I’m not. In fact, you go lie on it and see for yourself.” </p>
<p>Paul blinks. </p>
<p>“Erm, no. No, I’ll, ah, I’ll take your word for it.” He turns away, shaking his head, looking absolutely confused. </p>
<p>Madeleine clears her throat, standing up. </p>
<p>“So anyway! The washing up. I’ll do it and, erm, Joey’s got to help me!” She says, pulling Joey to his feet. He does his best not to wince, but it’s difficult with sudden movements. </p>
<p>“In his dress?” Paul yelps as if Joey’s about to commit a crime. “But Madeleine, all your hard work! What if he soils it?” <br/>
<br/>
In the threshold, she stops abruptly to look back over her shoulder,  Joey smacking into her with a loud “oomph!” </p>
<p>“It’s synthetic,” she yelps. “Trust me. It can take <em> all sorts </em>of stains.” </p><hr/>
<p>Madeleine hefts a stack of dirty dishes into the sink and then promptly turns on her heel, stepping into Joey’s personal space and poking him right in the middle of his exposed chest. </p>
<p>“Okay, <em> what </em>is going on?!” She hisses. Joey grabs at her stabby finger.</p>
<p>“N—“</p>
<p>“Oh my god! Do <em> not </em>say ‘nothing.’ Between your inability to sit still and your boyfriend’s mardy little display in there…” she throws her hands up, laughing incredulously. “It’s like a naughty game you’ve got—“</p>
<p>Joey hangs his head. </p>
<p>Madeleine gasps dramatically. </p>
<p><em>“Joey,” </em>she admonishes.</p>
<p>“Shh! Yes, it’s...just...we’re sort of...doing...something right now and—“</p>
<p>“Ooh, tell me! Tell me!” She chirps, bouncing on her feet. Joey scowls. </p>
<p>“Yeah. Okay. I’ll tell you if you tell me what happened with Paul last night.” Madeleine’s shoulders curve inward as she draws into herself defensively. </p>
<p>“What? Erm, well we just...did some...things?” He raises a skeptical eyebrow. </p>
<p>“Oh yeah?” He crosses his arms. “So what’s his cock look like? Thick? Thin? Cut? Uncut?” Madeleine splutters, her face burning.</p>
<p>“Joey! That’s—that’s <em> none </em>of your business!” </p>
<p>“Really?” He scoffs before speaking in hushed tones. “I seem to recall someone <em> begging </em>me to describe Henry’s.” He clears his throat, voice high as he impersonates her. “Oh darling. Please! Tell me so I can paint myself a picture!” </p>
<p>Her mouth hangs open, at a loss for words. Joey smirks triumphantly.</p>
<p>“Yes, but that was...we were wine drunk on the sofa. You know how...<em> bold </em>I get.” Joey chuffs.</p>
<p>“Do I? Miss ‘let’s randomly go on Discord and talk to our fans.’”</p>
<p>“Ugh! Fine,” she grumbles. “Then why don’t we wait until next time and then we can tell each other everything, yes?” </p>
<p>“Yes, good, agreed.” </p>
<p>The two of them shake on it and then promptly busy themselves with the dishes. Madeleine rinses them off and hands them over to Joey who does his best to keep his expression neutral every time he bends down to load the dishwasher.</p>
<p>He’s thankful that the water from the faucet is there to drown out every hitching breath, which is becoming quite frequent, as he finds even the slightest movement to be stimulating.</p>
<p>Madeleine passes him a plate and right as he sets it in the rack, fluid dribbles from his cock, saturating his knickers. And that’s a bit unexpected because he’s actually quite flaccid at the moment. </p>
<p>
  <em> Is this precum or piss or—or what the actual fuck? </em>
</p>
<p>The sound of Madeleine’s wicked laughter sets his cheeks aflame.</p>
<p><em> Gods, I mean, she knows, but she doesn’t </em>really <em>know...right?</em></p>
<p>“Henry is just torturing you, isn’t he?” </p>
<p>Joey looks at her, intent on making up some excuse so he can go tend to his undergarment, but then Paul and Henry enter with the rest of the dishes, speaking animatedly about something or other. </p>
<p>“I’ll make you a drink with it, but you’ve got to stop calling it ‘frou frou’ water,” Henry snipes, though he sounds amused. Paul snickers. </p>
<p>“But that’s what it is, mate. It’s water for posh people and you know it!”  </p>
<p>Henry wedges himself between Madeleine and Joey, setting a pan in the sink and then leaning over to give Joey a quick kiss on the temple.  </p>
<p>“Someday, when you’ve got your own sponsorship, I’ll be sure to take the piss out of it and see how <em> you </em> like it.”</p>
<p>Paul guffaws.</p>
<p>“So the that’s what you two do all day on set? Take the piss out of each other?” Madeleine posits snidely. Paul and Henry share a look and then shrug in unison.</p>
<p>“Eh, yeah, pretty much,” Henry confirms, popping the ‘p’ in “‘pretty.” She rolls her eyes. </p>
<p>“Right, well, someone else can sort this out because I need to go give my sister a ring <em> before </em>I drink all the mulled wine.” </p>
<p>“I’ll finish up,” Paul volunteers, taking the rubber gloves from her before she prances along. “Those pots and pans have got to be hand washed anyway.” </p>
<p>“Oh, no. They can go in the dishwasher, mate,” Henry advises, adding ice to a cocktail shaker. “I don’t mind.” </p>
<p>Paul stares at him in shocked disgust. Joey suppresses a laugh.  </p>
<p>“Henry! Bloody hell, mate,” Paul shrieks. “You can’t just—I mean, <em> look. </em>This one’s got a copper core and everything. These can’t go in the dishwasher!” </p>
<p>Henry is saying something about how one wash cycle isn’t going to ruin them and then Paul’s sniping back at him with words or…</p>
<p>...something or other.. </p>
<p>Joey isn’t listening anymore. </p>
<p>He <em> can’t...</em></p>
<p>...because Henry is fast at work, mixing Paul’s cocktail, and Joey is <em> captivated. </em> </p>
<p>It surprises him, always, when Henry just puts it on display, how agile his fingers are. </p>
<p>He’s careful, practiced, pouring out a jigger from a stumpy, dark bottle and then adding his fancy rosemary water along with a few other key ingredients, all while holding down a conversation, no, an argument. </p>
<p>He makes it look effortless. </p>
<p>
  <em> Gods above, but the way he’s all cheeky and competent, he must have been so bloody charming as a barman. I can only imagine…</em>
</p>
<p>And imagine he does. </p>
<p>Henry, barely into his twenties, with those long, shaggy curls, before the muscles when his body still held traces of that gangly late stage adolescence. </p>
<p>Himself, fresh out of sixth-form, awkward and definitely still gangly, being approached by Henry from behind the bar, the counter separating them, but only just. </p>
<p>There would be plenty of teasing along with a burgeoning tenacity on Henry’s part, while Joey does his best to appear aloof and mature and not at all intimidated. </p>
<p>Henry would definitely see through it, however. </p>
<p>In fact, he’d fucking <em> adore </em>it. </p>
<p>And maybe...after a couple pints...or a signature cocktail, on the house of course...</p>
<p>Henry would suggest a cigarette break. </p>
<p>A dark, narrow little snicket. Henry scuffing his denim clad knees on the wet gravel. Joey’s back cold against the brick wall, one hand wrapped in Henry’s supple curls, the other kindly holding onto his cigarette. </p>
<p>It would be fast and messy and clumsy and <em> maybe </em> Henry would gag and choke because <em> maybe </em> he hasn’t sucked a lot of cock yet, but Joey wouldn’t even notice because he’s <em> never </em>done it. </p>
<p>And also because <em> his cock is in another man’s mouth </em>and he never knew he could feel so alive, and so, so fucking aroused. </p>
<p>And ooh, fuck, he’s so pretty, this man, this <em> older man, </em>because twenty-three seems so far away when you’re barely eighteen. </p>
<p>And, ooh, they’ve only just met, but he’s sure, he’s <em> so </em>sure he’s in love and it doesn’t matter that he’s leaving for uni soon and Henry’s apparently only around for a few months out of year...</p>
<p>...they can make it work…</p>
<p>The piercing <em>ka-chunk </em>of the cocktail shaker snaps him out of his daydream. </p>
<p>Henry’s looking straight at him, gaze intense as he mixes up whatever concoction he’s made for Paul. Joey gulps, breath shallow in his lungs. Henry produces two coup glasses, straining the liquid into them and then floating cucumber slices on top. </p>
<p>He sets one glass in front of Paul, keeping the other for himself. Paul clumsily grasps the stemware between his gloved fingers, bringing the drink to his lips. </p>
<p>“Oh that’s good,” he purrs. “That’s very good.” </p>
<p>“Told you,” says Henry flippantly before taking a sip from his own glass, winking at Joey over the rim. </p>
<p>“Want a taste?” He utters tantalizingly and Joey nods. Henry smiles knowingly. “Then come here.” </p>
<p>Joey feels like he’s walking on air as he makes his way over. Henry holds out the glass for him before wrapping his arms low around Joey’s back and hefting him into an embrace. </p>
<p>Joey takes a tentative sip and then another full one. Flavour explodes on his tongue, refreshing and herbaceous. </p>
<p>“Oh,” he breathes. “Is this...gin?” Henry chortles.</p>
<p>“Hendrick’s. Do you like it?” </p>
<p>“Very much.” Joey sips again. Henry curls his fingers around the stem, pulling it from Joey’s grasp.</p>
<p>“Yeah?” He murmurs, their faces separated only by a small circumference. “Do you want to share it?” </p>
<p>“Yes,” Joey whispers. </p>
<p>They take turns drinking. It’s strong, but by splitting it the effect is limited to a light, pleasant warmth. </p>
<p>Henry clears his throat, glancing over at Paul. Joey turns to find him determinedly focused at his task. Henry sets the empty glass on the counter and guides Joey through the hallway. They stop just outside, Henry pressing him into the wall with a hard kiss. </p>
<p>There’s a thrumming inside Joey, his blood carrying a fiery lust through his veins. He breaks from the kiss with a narrowed gaze.</p>
<p>“Bed. Now.” </p><hr/>
<p>Joey uses the element of surprise to slam Henry up against the bedroom door as it closes, his lips instantly attaching to the jumpy tendon in Henry’s neck, hands slipping under his shirt, feeling up his torso. Henry grunts. </p>
<p>“So I take it you’re ready for more?” Joey whimpers as though he might cry.</p>
<p>“Henry, I can’t wait. I can’t. Please. Let me ride you. Let me fuck myself on your cock.” Henry lets out a strangled breath, searching Joey’s face. </p>
<p>In the next instant, he’s got Joey on his hands and knees, face smushed into the bed with his skirt flipped up over him. Joey chokes on a breath as Henry eases the plug from his body. It gives way easily and Joey feels himself gaping, the loose ring of muscle clutching around nothing. Henry spanks him hard and he cries out from the burning tingle. </p>
<p>“You know what you are, love?” Henry teases near his ear. Joey trembles and whines. A deep, grating chuckle escapes Henry. “A cockteasing, little slut.” <em>Oh fuck. He’s really going for it. </em></p>
<p>Joey wails loudly, his dick swollen hard and hot to the touch, the knickers soaked through and uncomfortably wet. </p>
<p>“I watched you while I was making that drink. You were thinking <em> very hard </em>about something.” He uncaps the lube and Joey gasps in excitement. “Was it Paul? Hm? Thinking about his cock because this one isn’t enough for you?” Joey’s breath sticks in his throat. </p>
<p>“I wasn’t—“ <em> Wait… </em>“Ah, erm, I mean, yes. I was! I’m terribly greedy, aren’t I?” Henry grunts affirmatively. </p>
<p>“You want to ride my cock, hm?” Joey rapidly nods his head, emitting tiny mewls of desperation. Henry yanks the knickers down his legs. </p>
<p>And then he feels it.</p>
<p>Not the tip of Henry’s cock, but more silicone. He nearly sobs. </p>
<p>“Wait, wha—” </p>
<p>“If you want my cock so bad, you’ve got to earn it, love.” He presses in, and at first it feels fine, great even, but then that ring of muscle stretches <em> wide.</em> Henry is exceedingly patient as Joey’s breath stutters and hitches in his effort to stay relaxed. </p>
<p>“Oh <em> Henry! </em> I—I <em> can’t! </em>” </p>
<p>“You <em> can,” </em>he whispers sweetly, tugging Joey’s earlobe between his teeth. </p>
<p>“Oh fuck. It’s—it’s <em> a lot.” </em>His knees shake and Henry gentles him, rubbing soothingly along his lower back. </p>
<p>“Does it hurt?” Henry asks in concern, faltering in his pursuit. Joey huffs. </p>
<p>“No. But it’s…a lot to get used to.” Henry hums in contentment. </p>
<p>“Good, because you’re taking it <em> so beautifully.” </em></p>
<p>Once the base is snug against Joey’s cheeks, Henry quickly plants a row of kisses along his spine. </p>
<p>“You like being called a slut?” He wisps, turning Joey onto his back. He pulls the knickers all the way off, tossing them in the corner. Joey bends his knees, crossing his ankles demurely and raising his arms above his head in surrender. </p>
<p>“As long as I’m <em> your </em> slut, darling. Gods, I really am though. <em>Fuck, </em>Henry.” He takes a shuddering breath, warm and sweaty as he concentrates on not tensing up. </p>
<p>“Hmmm,” Henry exhales, nosing along Joey’s nape. “You can stay here and let yourself adjust. I’m naughty, but I’m not cruel. Won’t make you go upstairs again.” He weaves his fingers through Joey’s sweaty hair, petting it soothingly before kissing it. “I’ll get us some mince pies before they’re gone, hm?” </p>
<p>“Fuck the mince pies,” Joey groans. “Just get inside me!” Henry tisks. </p>
<p>“‘Fuck the mince pies.’ Really? Are you even British?”</p>
<p>“How can you be hungry right now? Honestly, <em>how?”</em></p>
<p>“Alright,” Henry says before slipping through the door. “I’ll bring the mulled wine too. You could certainly do with a glass.” </p><hr/>
<p>He does do with a glass, sipping and swilling in silence as Henry eats his coveted dessert. It’s an experience, Joey finds, watching Henry’s tongue dart out to lick up the crumbs, listening to him moan obscenely with every bite and thereafter while sucking his fingers clean. </p>
<p>The room fades into darkness as evening falls prey to night, the windows frosting over while the rain comes down in thick sheets. Henry turns down the bedding, switching on the electric blanket. </p>
<p>He smiles lazily at Joey as he strips out of his clothes, taking his time to stretch. Finally, he slides between the sheets, laying flat on his back. Joey keeps the dress on, letting the skirt drape all around them. The lack of visibility makes for slow, sluggish movements, the darkness itself a heavy blanket that they rustle and tangle their limbs under. </p>
<p>Henry folds his arms behind his head, sighing contentedly as Joey slicks his cock for him, doing all the work while straddling thick thighs. Then he removes the plug, hissing because his hole is definitely tender. It drops onto the nightstand with a loud thud and Henry unfolds his arms, slipping them under the dress to find Joey’s slim, bony hips; moving up through his wild, bushy pubic hair and treasure trail; gliding along his firm tummy and then stopping at his chest to flick his nipples. Joey’s cock twitches, swaying as his balls graze Henry’s thighs. </p>
<p>Henry lowers his hands to Joey’s sternum, around his ribs and down his back, to the swell of his arse and then in between to finger his slick, puffy hole. </p>
<p>“Fuck,” Henry rasps. “I’m sorry, love, but I don’t think I’m going to last once I’m inside you. You’re <em> so </em>ready for me.” </p>
<p>“It’s alright,” Joey hums. “I won’t last either. Need your cock so fucking terribly.”  </p>
<p>He lifts up on his knees and Henry lines himself up, letting the tip breech before letting go. He moves his hands to the underside of Joey’s thighs, supporting him as he begins his descent. Joey’s legs tremble, his mouth forms a wide ‘o’ as he feels every inch slide deep and unencumbered. </p>
<p>When he’s finally seated, flush with Henry’s pelvis, he breathes out with his head thrown back. </p>
<p>“Why?” He keens. “I’m thirty-two years old and I never <em>realized...” </em></p>
<p>“I’m almost 40, love,” Henry murmurs, his own head thrown back, eyes shut tight, “and I’m learning things too.” </p>
<p>Joey tilts his hips, grinding a little. The angle creates a delicious friction, allowing the tip of Henry’s cock to drag thick and heavy over his prostate. </p>
<p><em> “Hoh, fuck. </em>Is it as transcendent as this?” He shakily gathers up his skirts. “Off! I want it off. I want—“ </p>
<p>Henry reaches behind him, swiftly undoing the long row of buttons from their loops so that Joey can shrug out of it and then immediately grip his deprived cock. </p>
<p>“Henry, I—I need—“ </p>
<p>“Shh,” Henry says, placing a hand over Joey’s. “Here, just move your hips and tell me how you want it, hm?” </p>
<p>Joey nods, catching his breath as Henry runs his hand through the small puddle Joey’s made on his stomach. </p>
<p>“Earlier,” Joey croaks, “There was…my cock was wet, but I wasn’t even hard!” </p>
<p>“Mm,” Henry muses, spreading Joey’s precum over his shaft. “It happens. Good way to cum hands free. ” Joey tightens his fists in the blankets, moaning. <em> Gods, I’ve barely even moved yet. </em></p>
<p>“Can—can <em> you </em>do that?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I can, but not always.” </p>
<p>“Is it...good?” Henry chuckles. </p>
<p>“It’s transcendent.” Joey smacks his shoulder.</p>
<p>“I’m going to ride you now,” he announces.</p>
<p>So he does. </p>
<p>The benefit of Joey’s lithe frame is that he can ride Henry into the goddamn sunset <em> and beyond. </em>Hard and fast or slow and steady, he can do it all. </p>
<p>It’s even better with Henry working his cock, and of course, being a quick study, he soon figures out when to pump him fast and when to slow down, when to twist up at head or down at the base, barely needing verbal direction. </p>
<p>When they find a rhythm, though, it’s all over. </p>
<p>“Fuck me, oh fuck me! <em> Henry! </em>I’m—I’m gonna—“</p>
<p>“Yes, please fucking come, love.” </p>
<p>Joey slams down, grinding, fucking himself all along Henry’s rigid shaft. </p>
<p>“Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” He cries.</p>
<p>“Never,” Henry exclaims on a punched out breath. </p>
<p>Joey’s fingers and toes curl as his orgasm approaches. It hits differently, as though the pleasure is being drawn into his groin from somewhere external, heat emanating all the way to his abdomen. His balls tingle and twinge as they tighten. </p>
<p>“Oh <em> fuck, darling!”  </em></p>
<p>He drenches Henry’s fingers, feeling it pulse out of him in waves. He marvels at it, having been used to a far more singular, concentrated burst. </p>
<p>Somewhere within the misty haze, Henry reaches his own peak, those guttural, broken moans giving him away. Joey feels a gush of wet warmth inside him, adding to the slippery feeling. </p>
<p>He pitches forward, withdrawing Henry’s spent cock. Henry uses his shirt for a rudimentary sort of clean up and then Joey flips them onto their sides. As they catch their breath, Henry tries for a kiss, but it’s more like lips rubbing together while they swallow each other’s hot breath. </p>
<p>Joey laces their fingers and settles them on his hip. “Learning things, hm?” He wonders breathlessly. </p>
<p>“Mm.” Henry opens his eyes a fraction and Joey’s stomach dips at the moonlight caught between them. </p>
<p>“Well?” He prompts. Henry smiles tiredly and Joey reaches forward to run his index finger along the lines of his forehead, down the curvature of his nose. </p>
<p>“Sex is...really, really good with you.” </p>
<p>“Really?” Joey snorts. “And you’ve just now come to that conclusion?” Henry tuts.</p>
<p>“Shush. I’m all sorts of knackered right now.” He brings their faces together and sighs. “It’s always been good...for the most part.” His smile is overly fond and Joey rolls his eyes, very much aware that Henry’s referencing their first failed attempt at Joey being on bottom. </p>
<p>“There’s an easiness between us,” he continues to babble, “a close comfort and...I’m not sure I’ve ever had that before. I’ve had relationships, obviously,  but”—he kisses Joey’s forehead—“I’ve never had a lover who was also a <em>companion.” </em></p>
<p>Joey swallows hard, and a tugging begins somewhere behind his tonsils. <em> Oh no. Please stop. No more talking. </em></p>
<p>Henry nudges along the column of his neck, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat, murmuring against it. “And that’s all good and lovely, but right now, all I can think about is how amazing it is...to see you become more comfortable with yourself.” </p>
<p>Joey’s eyes flutter closed, his nostrils flaring, pressure forming in his sinuses. He swallows again, so hard it echoes in his ears. <em> Gods, why? I don’t deserve… </em></p>
<p>“Joey? Are you alright?” </p>
<p>“Yes,” he assures him automatically, voice garbled. “Yes, I just…it’s so hard...sometimes, for me to be comfortable with myself and—and it’s like you know that and you’re <em> proud </em> of me. It’s...it’s <em> a lot </em> ...and…and…” his breath hitches, hot tears falling fast. <em> Oh, here it fucking is. </em></p>
<p>“I love it that spunking always makes you cry,” Henry whispers affectionately. </p>
<p>“Shut your cakehole,” Joey whines. Henry chuckles. </p>
<p>“But you cry so beautifully, love.” Henry turns them so Joey’s on his back, slithering down his body to place little open mouth kisses on every inch of skin he can reach. </p>
<p>“Oh no<em> , please,” </em> Joey begs. “Please stop doting on me. I can’t take it. <em> I can’t.”  </em></p>
<p>“Happy Christmas,” Henry hums, doing no such thing. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Question: So does anyone wanna know what happened with Mads and Paul while Joey was blacked out? </p>
<p>...because that’s what chapter 7 is. </p>
<p>Otherwise I can basically end it here with a small epilogue or something?</p>
<p>🤔</p>
<p>Joey still needs to call his parents, after all.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Noble Fir</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Joey finally calls his parents and Madeleine recounts what happened after Joey’s black out.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Alexa, queue “House Carpenter” by Pentangle. </p><p>tw: homophobia</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>VII.</p><p> </p><p>Noble Fir</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“She would have been a good woman,” The Misfit said, “if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life.”</p><p>— Flannery O’ Connor, <em> A Good Man is Hard to Find  </em></p><p>I just hope that one day - preferably when we're both blind drunk - we can talk about it. </p><p> — <em> Franny and Zooey<br/>
<br/>
</em></p><p> </p><p>The early morning chill needles its way into Joey’s skin, a thousand tiny pinpricks urging him to go and find a thicker coat. But no, instead he lets himself shiver, believing it to be congruous with his current state of self-pity. </p><p>Joey stares impassively at the mobile phone clutched in his exposed hands. He meant to at least put on gloves, knowing he would be outside for more than a few minutes, enough to experience the side effects of exposure in such harsh conditions, but alas, he knew himself. He could not afford to lose all initiative, which would certainly be the case if he were to walk back inside, Henry’s lingering scent in the toasty air calling to him, beckoning him to return to bed. No, that would be suboptimal, seeing as he spent the better part of an hour psyching himself up for one measly conversation with his parents. </p><p>He turns the screen on, swiping over the missed call notification from his dad, which can be misleading because it’s often his mother on the other end. <em> The man can’t even take control of his own mobile for Christ sake. </em>Exhaling a long, steaming breath, he taps the phone icon and waits. </p><p>
  <em> “Come here,” a fair woman coos. She’s inside a room that’s home to all sorts of instruments either hung against the wall or encased on the floor. She sits cross legged, in the far back, next to a rather stodgy Hammond organ, on top of a woven rug, the one she brought back from India years prior. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A sprightly little boy, no more than four years old, comes bouncing into the room, feet slapping against the hardwood, tiny arms outstretched.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Mummy! What is that?” He asks in his high, lisping voice, crystal blue eyes turned to saucers as he points a wee finger at the large wooden instrument cradled in her lap, it’s ungainly neck balanced on her outstretched arm. </em>
</p><p>“Alreet there, Joey?” Joey blinks in surprise, his father’s genial voice very much unexpected. He clears his throat. </p><p>“Alreet da’. Sorry I missed you and mum last night. I was erm…”</p><p>“You over there with Madeleine?”</p><p>“Aye, but, erm, we—we’re not at our flat.” </p><p>“Oh? Where’ve you gone off to then?” Joey clears his throat again loudly, his heart pounding inside it, threatening to choke him. </p><p>“We, erm, we’re at m—my boyfriend’s house.” He breathes out shakily, holding his face away from the speaker. A fresh shiver runs through him. </p><p>“You got yourself a lad, huh? How long's it been?”</p><p>“Erm...since March...so, a while now, I suppose.” </p><p>“Oh...well, good for you, wor kid.”</p><p>“Th—thanks.” </p><p>“Your sister knows?” </p><p>“She—she does, yeah.” </p><p>“Ah. She never telt us anything.” </p><p>“Because it wasn’t hers to tell, da’.” His father sighs and Joey can sense his utter fatigue. </p><p>“Alreet...erm, your ma’—“</p><p>“Will be up a height. I...I know.” </p><p>“Want me to tell her? Joey huffs.</p><p>“No, I’ve...I’ve got to do it myself.” </p><p>“Well, alreet then, wor kid. I love you. Happy Christmas, by the way.” </p><p>“Love you, too, Da’. Happy Christmas.” </p><p>
  <em> “This is a sitar, sweet boy. Mummy learned to play it in Rishikesh.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He reaches out to touch the strings, running his little hands along the frets. She lowers it down so he can touch the large, bulbous pegs at the top. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “These are khunti. They have to be big and strong to keep these strings in tune—right here, look—See how thick these ones are?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The boy tries to pluck the string in question but it barely moves, producing no more than a brief echo of sound. His mother giggles and when she plucks it the string vibrates. It’s the most interesting sound he’s ever heard in his brief life; exotic is how he would describe it in retrospect. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Mummy will you play? Will you?” His mother laughs in that high trill of hers that always makes him smile and squeal happily. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yes, dear heart, of course I will play for you.” She starts with a little warm up, adjusting the pegs here and there. “Now let’s see, what shall I play?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Let’s do House Carpenter,” a man with dark brown hair and sideburns says as he meanders into the room only to pluck the banjo from its place on the wall.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Oh, no, love, we can’t. I’m much too out of practice!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Please, please, please, mummy?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The boy and his father try with identical pouty faces. She laughs once more. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Oh, I can’t say no to my sweet lads, can I?”</em>
</p><p>“Hullo, Joey,” his mother says in a voice that sounds even more weary than his father. </p><p>“Erm, hi ma’...Happy Christmas?” She emits a low, trilling laugh. He smiles wistfully, lamenting the fault lines that have already begun to spread through his heart. </p><p>“Yes, it’s not very ‘happy’ is it?”</p><p>“Oh, erm, I dunno. It’s been...rather lovely so far.” </p><p>“Really?” She sounds intrigued. “You’re with Madeleine?” </p><p>“Erm, y—yeah, but—“</p><p>“Oh Joey,” she drones, “you know I wish you two would get married.” </p><p>Joey’s breath hitches, the lines growing wider, deeper. </p><p>“Ma’” he starts, “you know it’s not like that between us, we—“</p><p>“It could be, dear,” she says patiently, but Joey knows it’s deliberate, calculated. “It could be if you tried. Relationships are hard, Joey. They take <em> work. </em> That’s the reality.” </p><p>“Ma’ I know that, but—“</p><p>“She’s such a sweet girl. You know she reminds me a little bit of myself at her age. Although, you were already out of your nappies by then and she—well, you know she’s not getting any younger.” Joey’s hand, previously gripping his knee, curls into a fist.</p><p>“Ma’, I’m—I’m trying to tell you that the reason Christmas has been lovely is because, erm, I’m—I’ve been spending it with my...boyfriend.”</p><p>A long moment of silence follows and it’s as though the ambient noise around him has been sucked through a funnel until it becomes a sharp, throbbing ring in his ears. </p><p>
  <em> The banjo and the sitar weave together to create a rich, bohemian sound, but the little boy pays it no mind. He’s moved behind his mother, his hands petting through her golden hair which falls in a long curtain down her back. His ear is pressed between her shoulder blades, the way he likes to feel more than hear when she sings to him, similar to when he buries his face in her chest while she rocks him to sleep, the vibrations of her voice ushering him into the sweetest of dreams. </em>
</p><p>“And you chose today to tell me this?” She accuses in a hollow, contemptuous tone. </p><p>
  <em> How could...</em>
</p><p>
  <em> How could I...me…?</em>
</p><p>
  <em> How…?</em>
</p><p>“Yes, <em> I’m </em>selfish. Ruining your day, aren’t I?” His voice is high and strained, worn thin, like it could break at any moment. </p><p>“Stop it,” she demands from him under her breath. “You just love to remind me how I completely failed as a parent, don’t you? Blimey, Joey! You could be so much more than you are, but the way you choose to live, can you really blame me for wanting a normal life for you? What about my grandbabies? Don’t you want children someday? And then the <em> diseases. </em>Think about that! Do you want AIDS, hm? Because that’s exactly how you’ll get it!” </p><p>Joey pillows his head on his hand as it spins. He’s reeling, mind foggy and disoriented, like he’s just been slapped clear across the face.</p><p>“Oh. Right then,” he all but gasps from the force of it. “Okay. I see...I definitely see it now.” </p><p>
  <em> The banjo and sitar cease their production, allowing for the woman with the long golden hair to unleash a paradox upon the little boy. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She sings a capella so that the boy may be swaddled, wrapped tight, so tight, in the rumble of her sweet, delicate soprano. <br/>
<br/>
</em>
</p><p>
  <em> I see bright hills of Heaven, my dear </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Where angels come and go </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> At first he basks in the sheer comfort and safety of it, but then her voice veers off into a strange, eldritch timbre, like she’s suddenly lost her way, having gone too deep into the forest.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I see bright hills, that’s Hell, my dear </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Where you and I must go </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The little boy struggles to retreat, free himself from inside the bundling, that place where the sound of her voice, the warmth of her skin, the silk of her hair threaten to constrict him.</em>
</p><p>At last, Joey’s quaking heart splits open, held in two by a combination of love and resentment only a mother could possess. </p><p>His fingers curl into a fist again, anger threatening to boil over in his disbelief at her...her <em> everything. Her entire being. </em></p><p>“Joey,” she pleas in a soft whisper, “I’m only looking out for you, dear heart—“</p><p>“Don’t call me that,” he threatens, shaking with rage. “Don’t <em> ever </em>call me that.” </p><p>“So this is where it stands then?” She scoffs in disgust. </p><p>Joey hangs up on her. </p><p>
  <em> Thirty odd years later and the little boy, now a man in his prime, is still fighting to free himself, fingernails bloody and raw from having to claw his way out. </em>
</p><p>“Worthless cunt,” He mutters wetly, slamming his mobile down on the table. “Waste of fucking space.” </p><p>He huffs and quickly wipes away the tears, suddenly aware that his fingers have gone numb. He holds them out in front of him to find the tips flushed a bright red. </p><p>“Cock.” </p>
<hr/><p>Joey bolts into Henry’s bedroom, surprised to find him still asleep, but then he realizes with Kal basically glued to Madeleine’s side, Henry’s able to snooze unimpeded for once. Joey shivers as he sheds his clothing. He can’t seem to regain any warmth, every part of his body being chilled to the touch. </p><p>Stealth is not even an option due to the shaking, so of course Henry wakes up when he slides between the sheets. </p><p>“Joey love?” He croaks out, slowly blinking into awareness. </p><p>Joey’s teeth chatter again and he’s powerless to stop it, running his hands under the pillows, along the sheets, garnering any bit of warmth he can find.</p><p>“Go back to sleep, darling, I’m fine, just trying to warm up.” </p><p>“Mmm, come here then.” </p><p>“No, I’m—I’m <em> too </em>cold. You’ll get chilled.” Henry squints, noticing how severely Joey shivers. </p><p>“Were you just outside or something?” Joey nods. “Did you layer?” Joey hangs his head. Henry tuts at him, though he scoots until they’re pressed together. “What’s wrong with your hands? Let me see.” Joey sheepishly brings them above the covers. </p><p>Henry frowns and takes hold of them. “Here,” he whispers, bringing them underneath his shirt to press against the hard, hot skin of his tummy. Like Joey, he then shucks his shirt and underwear until he’s completely naked. After, he wraps his arms around Joey’s back, bringing their fronts together with Joey’s hands between them roaming the expanse of Henry’s torso. “Can you feel that, love?” </p><p>“Yeah, but my fingers are burning now. Ouch. Fuck.” Henry kisses his red nose, his wind burned cheeks and chapped lips. </p><p>“What were you doing outside this early? Walking Kal?” </p><p>Joey considers it for a brief moment, lying to him. <em> Yes, that’s it, took Kal for walkies. Nothing to write home about, or...oh, erm... </em></p><p>“Madeleine and Paul took him...I had to call my parents.” </p><p>Henry gives him a once-over, cups his cheek, petting tenderly with his thumb, and Joey has to force himself not to bury his face in Henry’s neck to escape awareness. There’s a curiosity in his expression, made apparent by the earnest look in his eyes, how he purses and unpurses his lips. </p><p>
  <em> Not yet, but soon. I promise. </em>
</p><p>“Joey,” he whispers. </p><p>Joey pushes his forehead against Henry’s, sighing heavily. </p><p>“Please,” he whispers back, nudging with his nose. “Let’s not get up. Let’s stay here all day. Let...Let me just <em> love </em> you, darling.” Joey feels near Henry’s sternum when he sucks in a breath, his eyes turning hooded. “Can—can we do that?”</p><p>Henry flips them so he’s on top of Joey, bringing the sheets over their heads so they’re completely covered. Immediately, Joey brings his arms around Henry’s back and all the way down to his supple bottom, squeezing firmly now that he’s regained the feeling in his hands. He winds his legs around him as well, feet slipping to his calves. </p><p>“Yes, songbird.” He pecks the tip of Joey’s nose. “Anything.” His lips. “I’d give you anything, you do know that, right?” </p><p>Joey’s breath stutters, catches in his throat. “Unfortunately, darling, there’s a lot of things I want that you—”</p><p>“I know I can’t make everything right for you. I know I can’t fix your problems, but I’ll do anything to support you through them. That’s what you’ve got to understand.” Joey swallows hard, looking away pensively. “Do you?” </p><p>“I’m...the fact that you think I’m deserving...especially when I’m not even a very good per—”</p><p>Henry silences him with an aching kiss, leaving him whimpering and teary eyed. </p><p>“Don’t. Just...don’t.” Henry nips his jaw, breathes him in. “Look at me right now,” he orders. Joey rotates his neck until he’s square with Henry once more. “You <em> are </em>a good person, but if some plonker out there doesn’t think so, well does it even bloody matter? Because I, for one, think the sun shines out your arse.” Joey chuffs and rubs his nose along Henry’s scruffy cheek, a hint of a smile forming on his lips. </p><p>“You would know,” he husks. “You’ve gotten rather well acquainted with it, haven’t you?” Henry releases a guttural moan and bucks his hips, his cock starting to fill out as it rubs against Joey’s. “Oh gods, darling, I’m so sore from last night. I want to—hnng, I really do but…” He brings the back of his hand to his forehead and wails “Oh, how the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak!” </p><p>Henry sinks his teeth into Joey’s collarbone and then soothes it with his tongue. “Want to just lay here and rub off on each other, see how long until we get to spunking?” Joey releases a sprawling, indolent groan, his eyes all but rolling backwards.  </p><p>“Happy Christmas to me, <em> again! </em>Are we giving gifts for all twelve days?” Henry chuckles, grinding down until Joey’s bucking his hips. </p><p>“Get ready, love,” he sing-songs, “the twelve days of shagging are upon us.” </p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> Two Weeks Later…</em>
</p><p>“I believe it’s time, darling,” Joey announces in a grave tone, twirling around, on his finger, the top hat Madeleine gave him. She reaches out to try and snatch it, but he quickly withdraws and places it on his head. She groans in annoyance, flopping down to lay in front of him, her knees accordioned, a stemless wine glass cupped in her lap. </p><p>“I’m not talking until you take the hat off. It’s very much worn out its welcome.” </p><p>“But it was <em> your </em> gift.” He frowns. “I like it. It brings me joy. How can you live with yourself, denying me such simple pleasures in these trying times?” </p><p>She rolls her eyes. “Because I can’t take you seriously right now.” He makes a frustrated noise and then lowers his head in deference. She grabs the brim, plucking it from his head and tossing it on the coffee table. Joey swills his wine glass and cracks a wry smile, taking a modest pull.</p><p>“Oh god. Stop looking at me like that!” She squeals. </p><p>“Like what?” Joey cocks an eyebrow, yet bites back a smile. She elbows him in the ribs. </p><p>“You’re making me nervous!” </p><p>“I’m not doing anything! I’m just here being myself.” She narrows her eyes and growls. “Okay, here,” he says, tipping her glass up to her lips. She laughs into her cup, sipping generously. “There we are. That’s good. I want all the knitty-gritty details.” </p><p>“You’re <em> such </em> a randy bastard,” she whines. Joey yelps, placing a hand over his chest for emphasis. </p><p>“I’m sorry? Who just finished recounting their Christmas sexcapades? Oh, right, that’s it. <em> Me. I did. </em>And I did it stone cold sober because someone was impatient.” </p><p>Madeleine takes another sip of wine, the apples of her cheeks warming. She shrugs. “What can I say?” She murmurs demurely. “I like to hear about people being naughty. It brings me joy. You wouldn’t deny me such simple pleasures in this trying time, would you?” She bats her eyelashes. Joey’s mouth drops open. </p><p>“Well you’re certainly quick today, aren’t you? Fine, then. I humbly concede. Whenever you’re ready, <em> if </em>ever you’re ready.” She rolls her eyes</p><p>“We both know that I’ll be loose lipped by the end of this glass, so...hmm…” she taps her chin in contemplation. “Wherever do I begin?” </p><p>
  <em>Two weeks prior…</em>
</p><p>She’s generally a patient person, more so than Joey at least, but right now she is imagining herself grabbing him by the arms and screaming in his punchable little face. It’s the only way she’s able to get through the evening, tucked away in an armchair, drinking her tea while Joey, well into his cups, teaches Paul the chords to <em> Fair. </em></p><p>
  <em> (Here’s the long and short of it:  I’m not about to throw a wobbly or anything, but I will certainly lose my temper if I don’t at least get some fingers inside me tonight—and preferably not my own!) </em>
</p><p>Thus far, Joey has single handedly polished off the wassail and moved into sampling Henry’s menagerie of specialty liqueurs. She and Paul had quit while they were ahead, of course, neither wanting to be three sheets to the wind for what they had planned later...or <em> now, </em> rather, as the late hour had inadvertently steamrolled their impromptu date. </p><p>“<em>Mad</em>eleine, darling. Darling <em> Mad</em>eleine,” Joey slurs. She raises her chin in acknowledgement. “You’re <em> mad </em>at me, hm?” Paul looks between them with a bemused smirk. </p><p>“Oh, noo. I’m not, dear,” she assures him, shooting back the dregs of her tea. </p><p>“You are. I’ve ruined everything because I’m shellfish and you all,” he hiccups, “you all know it.” </p><p>“What are you on about?” asks Paul. Madeleine rubs her eyes. </p><p>“I don’t want to be alone again tonight,” Joey whines. “So I keep drinking to make myself seem pathetic, in...in hopes that you’ll let me play third wheel.” </p><p>Madeleine stands up and sighs, walking over to Joey and placing her hands on his shoulders. “I know dear, I know,” she murmurs. “You’re very terrible, but I’ll forgive you because you’ve got a good heart.” </p><p>He wraps his arms tight around her waist, leaning his cheek against her abdomen. “Really?” he whispers. </p><p>“The very best, dear,” she whispers, her fingers combing through his messy hair. He blows out a breath, ruffling the fringe that hangs over his forehead.  </p><p>“So, erm, I should...should probably kip down for the night?” Madeleine purses her lips, glancing at Paul who clears his throat uncomfortably. </p><p>“Ye—erm, ah, that’s—you should. Probably. Sleep it off,” he encourages. </p><p>Joey nods as if to convince himself that it’s for the best. He hauls himself to his feet, teetering as he catches his balance. Madeleine grips the crook of his arm to steady him. </p><p>“Why don’t I help you downstairs, dear?” Joey mumbles something to himself that Madeleine has no hope of understanding <em> (Northerners!) </em>and then waves her off, stumbling into the archway. </p><p>Paul clears his throat again. “I’ll get the fire sorted,” he tells her. “If you want to make sure he doesn’t break his neck on the stairs?” Madeleine looks down at the hand he’s placed on her shoulder and covers it with her own, squeezing. </p><p>“This might take a moment,” she warns him. He laughs under his breath. </p><p>“Take your time. I’ll be here.” His eyes practically twinkle as they bore into her own, their hands still clasped over her clavicle. His breath gusts lightly over her face, spicy sweet from the wassail. Butterflies start to trickle into her tummy, up to her chest. She traces Paul’s fingers, petting at his knuckles, around his cuticles. His fingers are soft, but exceptionally wiry and <em> long. </em></p><p>
  <em> (Oh, I’m really in it now, aren’t I?)  </em>
</p><p>A dull <em> thump </em>draws them out of the moment and Paul’s already turned around to find Joey feeling along the wall with his hands before she even registers the loss of contact. </p><p>She sighs heavily. </p><p>
  <em> (Just a little more patience.) </em>
</p><p>After walking Joey to Henry’s bedroom and watching him fall all over himself trying to change clothes, Madeleine slinks upstairs to do the same, except in a much more coordinated fashion. That is, until she gets a whiff of her hair and realizes it smells like the turpentine and oil paint from earlier. </p><p>“Sod it,” she mutters to herself, stripping down and making for the shower. The water is warm and downright heavenly, but she’s so keyed up thinking about Paul that she can’t even run a soapy flannel over her skin without feeling aroused.</p><p>“Oh, steady on,” she scoffs to herself. “You’re thirty-three, not a bloody teenager.” </p><p>Emerging from the damp, curling steam, Madeleine braids her hair into a long plait down her back. While dressing, she skips the undergarments. <em> (Why play coy when we’re both shamelessly desperate for it?) </em> Instead, she considers whether or not Paul would find it completely unsexy of her to wear festive flannel pajamas. <em> (For the record, I’m going with the pair that’s patterned with tiny alpine trees and not looking back. I mean, even the buttons are little trees! How could anyone not have fun taking that off?)  </em></p><p>As she’s digging out a pair of wool socks from her bag, there comes a sharp knock at the door.</p><p>“Erm, Madeleine?” Paul addresses her from the other side. </p><p>“Yes, dear?” </p><p>“I, ah, got the fire on, but, erm, I’ve had a bit of a kerfuffle with the—“ She grasps the door handle, pulling it open and immediately placing a shocked hand over her mouth. </p><p>“Erm...with the flue,” he finishes lamely while she looks him up and down and immediately bursts into laughter. </p><p>Paul’s entire upper body, including his hair and face, is covered in soot. </p><p>“What—“ she tries to speak but she ends up snorting inelegantly. </p><p>“Don’t ask. Everything’s sorted now, but I’ll be charging Henry what he would have paid for a chimney sweep.”</p><p>“Yes, do it, but tell him you’re charging extra because now you’ve got the black lung.” </p><p>Paul guffaws. “Clever,” he says, turning to ascend the stairs two at a time. “I’ll be quick about the shower, but if you want to get Netflix queued up—“ he shouts down at her. </p><p>Back in the living room, she does just that, but then she takes it a step further by creating an <em> ambiance. (Oh bollocks. It’s about the romance, alright? Sue me.) </em>First come the lights. She turns those off, generating a focal point with the fire’s soft focused glow. After, she grabs the duvet from her bed and shrugs it out over the sofa, giving the throw pillows a punch for good measure. When all is said and done, she comes to stand in front of the hearth, eager to let the heat work itself into her bones. The logs have shifted a bit, so she grabs the poker from the rack of tools, intent on stoking the flames. She pokes and prods at the cracks in the wood, flinching reflexively when one splits open and the sparks go haywire. </p><p>“Argh! Well now you’ve gone and spooked it and look what happened!” she says out loud to herself, brushing off her sleeves. </p><p>“A tree playing with fire? That can’t end well,” Paul murmurs over her shoulder. She jumps and whirls her head around, her braid whipping him in the chest. </p><p>“Oh, fucking shite, you scared me!” She laughs with a hand over her mouth. Paul grins and pulls her into his arms, his own laugh rich and husky. He rubs up and down her arms while she brings her hands to his waist, keeping them firmly at his sides. </p><p>“So Joey’s all tucked in now?” he rumbles, rolling his shoulders back with a grunt. </p><p>“Mmhm.” Madeleine reaches up, squeezing his trapezius muscles, scratching them slightly with her nails. His eyes flutter a little as he lets out a soft groan. </p><p>“Ooh, you little vixen. I’ll be a goner if you keep that up.” She gasps inwardly, arousal pooling low in her gut. </p><p>“I'll keep that in mind,” she whispers throatily. Paul circles his arms around her waist, hauling her in. </p><p>“Good. You look bloody adorable, by the way,” he murmurs against her lips. She giggles.</p><p>“Thought you might like it. Especially these,” she explains, grazing her fingers over the top button and undoing it while looking at him from under her lashes. The fabric comes apart just enough to see the beginning of her cleavage. Paul’s breathing picks up. She tilts her head, indicating to the sofa. He sits, pulling her down to straddle his lap. </p><p>“So, erm, I know you wanted to see my favourite Christmas film, but—” she kisses him, licking into his mouth with fervor. His hands move from her hips up along her sides, resting under her breasts. He pulls back to watch her face as he drags his palms, feather light, over her nipples. She chokes on a gasp, throwing her head back as they harden into stiff little pebbles. </p><p>“Paul,” she mewls <em> loud, </em>her nails biting into his shoulders. </p><p>“Fuck, kitten,” he grits out. “I’ve <em> barely </em> touched you.” He thumbs over her hard peaks and her entire body bucks forward so her belly is pressed to his face. She whimpers as he starts to undo her shirt buttons. </p><p>“I’m so wound up. I’m—“</p><p>“Absolutely gorgeous,” Paul gasps out in reverence as he parts her shirt. His hands grip around her rib cage before sliding to the underside of her breasts, cupping them softly before gently squeezing. She sighs, head lolling to the side and chuckling. </p><p>“Mm, thank you, darling. Now say it again, but boorishly.” Paul chuffs out a laugh. </p><p>“What do you want me to say? You’ve got a good pair of tits?” </p><p>“Mmhm,” she mewls. Paul clucks his tongue. </p><p>“You get off when I’m impolite, don’t you?” She nods, hissing as he continues to play with her chest. He tisks at her. “A <em> naughty </em> girl with <em> nice </em>fucking tits.”</p><p>“Hmm and they’re quite sensitive too, if you haven’t noticed. If you suck them, I might scream.” Paul chokes on a breath and she grins, thrilled at the effect she’s having on him. He licks around the dusky areola before slipping the tight nub into his mouth, suckling hard while his beard rasps along the ticklish skin around it. </p><p>Madeleine’s face scrunches up in pleasure, lips parting. She keens, but tries to stifle it with a hand over her mouth. Paul releases her with a pop, attaching himself to the other nipple. He grabs her wrist, yanking her hand away. “Paul, I’ll wake the sodding neighbors!” She cries with a desperate little sob at the end. “H’oh! Oh god. <em> Please.” </em></p><p>
  <em> SNAP! </em>
</p><p>It’s such a sudden, jarring sound, that the two practically jump out of their skin, Madeleine emitting a surprised squeak, Paul gasping into her cleavage. They break apart, Madeleine hastily pulling her shirt closed while Paul looks around the room. </p><p>“Was that—“</p><p>
  <em> SNAP!</em>
</p><p>They jump again, less intense this time, recognition creeping into their features. </p><p>Paul peers over at the archway, his flaming eyebrow cocked skeptically. </p><p>“Are those—“</p><p>
  <em> SNAP!  </em>
</p><p>“Oh, for fucks sake!” Madeleine yells, throwing her hands up in frustration. She growls, clambering to her feet, and without so much as a considering pause, yanks the fireplace poker from the rack. </p><p>“What are you doing?” Paul exclaims, clearly alarmed by her brandishing the tool like a deadly weapon. </p><p>“Nothing much, darling, just about to put the Fear of God into an ex-Episcopalian.” </p><p>She stomps along the hallway, down the staircase, her socks catching on tiny slivers of cardboard, the slight scent of gunpowder in the air. </p><p>
  <em> (Blimey, Joey! Could you be any more of a messy little shite when Paul is probably minutes, maybe even mere seconds away from giving me a blinding orgasm?) </em>
</p><p>“Joey!” She screeches. </p><p>Reaching the bottom of the steps, she finds him sprawled out on Henry’s gaming chair, a paper crown adorned haphazardly on his head, drinking straight from the bottle of Chambord and squinting at a tiny slip of paper. </p><p>“The jokes’ always shite in these.” </p><p>“Joey!” She hisses, coming to stand in front of him, waving the sharp edge of the poker at his face. He swats it away. </p><p>“Divvent point that as is.” </p><p>Madeleine growls again. “Joey! You arse! Why’ve you got into the Christmas crackers? Are you trying to give us heart attacks?” She waves the poker again. </p><p>Joey shrinks back into the seat, taking another swig of Chambord. He wipes his mouth with his shirtsleeve. “Just wantae be king, pet,” he blubbers, fingering the flimsy paper crown on his head. Madeleine slowly lowers the poker, frowning at how he’s barely able to speak, slurring his words together, his accent stronger than the mixed alcohol brimming in his gut. </p><p>“I thought you were asleep? What happened?” He ignores her, or rather, the words fail to register with him. She drops the poker, letting it clatter against the floor and then steps between Joey’s legs, cupping his cheeks with her hands, slapping them a little bit to wake him up. </p><p>“Joey!” she says in a stern voice. </p><p>“Areet? Ya’reet?” He exclaims, eyes glazed over, unable to focus. </p><p>“How much did you drink? Just this?” She holds up the almost empty liqueur bottle, grimacing. </p><p>“Divvina,” he shrugs.</p><p>“Ah, you know, I used to think I had a knack for understanding pissed northerners, but—” </p><p>Madeleine whirls around to find Paul leaned against the bottom of the staircase with a pitying expression. </p><p>“Luckily, I’m an expert at it, at least where Joey’s concerned. Lord knows we’ve taken care of each other like this enough times before. I’ve no idea how you get “divvina” from “don’t know,” but that’s what it means.” Paul chortles. </p><p>Madeleine turns back to Joey to find him slouched in the chair, muttering to himself, the spherical bottle, modeled after a globus cruciger, cradled in his palm. She hangs her head in defeat. </p><p>“We can’t leave him like this. He’s all but passed out.” Paul comes to stand next to her, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his joggers. </p><p>“Hmm,” he muses. “I’d say let’s put him to bed, but he doesn’t look good.” Madeleine shakes her head. </p><p>“He can’t sleep alone. Someone’s got to make sure he doesn’t suffocate on his own vomit.” </p><p>“Right,” says Paul. Madeleine sighs.</p><p>“Maybe I should stay down here with him? I could sleep in Henry’s bed, make sure he’s taken care of.” Paul purses his lips. He glances down at the fireplace poker and picks it up, weighing it in his hand. </p><p>“Aye...but what about taking him upstairs? We could sit him in a chair and keep a nigh on him while we lay on the sofa and watch <em> White Christmas?” </em></p><p>
  <em> (Lay next to him and do nothing? That sounds like pure torture...but, of course, I’m daft enough to do it. I’d so love to fall asleep in his arms, if I’m being honest.) </em>
</p><p>A small smile forms on her lips. “Alright,” she murmurs, glancing at Joey and then at the poker in Paul’s grasp. “But first,” she says, taking the blunt object from him, “I’ve got an idea.” </p><p>After hauling Joey to his feet and practically dragging him up the steps, for his motor coordinator is so severely impaired, Paul and Madeleine settle themselves on the sofa, giggling at the picture she took of Joey holding the fireplace poker and Chambord bottle like a king posing with his royal regalia. </p><p>“Are you comfortable, Joey?” Madeleine yells at him before playing the film. </p><p>“Mmmmm.” </p><p>She shrugs. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then.” </p><p>As the opening credits roll, she lays across the couch, Paul cuddled up behind her. He draws up the duvet, covering them head to toe. She stretches out her arms and legs, sighing in contentment before settling, pressing back against Paul’s front. He slides an arm around her middle, pulling her close. </p><p>“This alright?” he murmurs near her ear. She looks back at him, teeth flashing.</p><p>“Perfect,” she whispers.</p><p>For a while it’s cozy. The fire crackles and spreads its warmth while the wind hums and howls in turn, and that combined with the soft buzz of old-timey voices is a recipe for relaxation. </p><p>Paul’s hand stays planted firmly on her tummy, not moving at all, and that’s fine. She knows he’s trying to be respectful because of Joey. <em> (I suppose I’ve got to do a little singing along. Maybe a little bum wiggling against his cock? Yes, that’ll get that hand wandering.)</em></p><p>It turns out, though, that humming along with Bing Crosby does the trick and he’s stirring behind her in no time. He sighs, long and deep, nosing along the side of her neck. She giggles and then follows along with “Sisters.” Paul breathes out a deep-seated moan, his cock pressing hard against the soft flesh of her arse. </p><p>She turns to look at him and he immediately covers her mouth with his, she keeps humming and giggles again while Paul makes a rumbling noise in his chest. His hand slips under her shirt, gliding up to her sternum and stopping. </p><p>“Can you be quiet?” He whispers, breaking from their heated kiss. She bites her lip, glancing over at Joey. His head is lolled to the side, body still except for the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. <em> (No, I really, really can’t.) </em></p><p>“I...think so,” she tells him, despite her certainty that she will have to smother her face in a throw pillow. </p><p>“Just watch the film,” he husks, thumbs sliding over her nipples again to find them painfully erect. She tenses, her breathing loud and shaky in her own ear. He gives a cursory pinch to each one, making her back arch and push into his hand. </p><p>He touches them for only a few moments before traveling south, fingers coming to rest on the waistband of her pajama bottoms. He feathers along the drawstring before slipping lower to cup her clothed mound in his warm palm. She gasps, scrambling to cover her mouth with her hand. Paul rubs softly, pressing in slightly with his middle finger to provide friction where she needs it most. </p><p>“I’ve thought about it, so many times,” he whispers, kissing along her hairline, “what you might sound like when you cum. I imagine it’s the sweetest little melody.” She releases a muffled cry into her palm before lowering it. </p><p>“I don’t even remember...the last time it wasn’t hidden by a pillow.” Paul lets out an anguished whimper. </p><p>“I need to hear it,” he croons into her shoulder, pulling at the tie on her waistband. It loosens, allowing him to dip underneath, fingers gliding down through her little patch of trimmed hair. </p><p>“No knickers?” He teases. </p><p>“What’s the point?” she breathes. He chuckles wickedly. </p><p>“My kind of lass.” </p><p>Finally, <em> (Oh fucking finally!), </em>his fingers move all the way down to find her already dripping wet and swollen. </p><p>“Oh, <em> fuck, </em>kitten,” he rasps, choking on air. </p><p>“I know,” she whines breathlessly, hips bucking. He shushes her gently. </p><p>“Here,” he brings the arm of his free hand under her neck, winding it around to clasp his hand over her mouth. “I’m going to play with your cunt now.” She nods her head emphatically. He kisses her clothed shoulder. </p><p>The pad of his middle finger teases around the hood of her clit before slipping down to her engorged labia and parting the slick lips. She whimpers, hips stuttering, pressing down to meet him as he enters her all the way to the knuckle. </p><p>The long length of his digits allow him to reach deep, but she’s clamping down before he even curls it. She wonders if he’ll draw it out, this delicious torture, or quickly grant her sweet relief. How she wishes she could have it both ways. </p><p>“So <em> sensitive, </em>kitten,” he breathes, withdrawing slightly and returning with both his index and middle finger, scissoring them gently. </p><p>She whimpers, desperate for him to just crook his fingers and fucking <em> move. </em> She’s so close, it would take not but a few movements to get her there. </p><p>“Please, darling,” she whines into his hand, pulling her head back to speak, “I’ve been so—oh, please, I <em> need </em>to cum.”</p><p>“Hmm...I wanted to make it last a little longer, but—” All at once he clamps his hand tight over her mouth while pressing his fingers deep inside, in and out, curling in earnest. Her squeaking moan is dampened by his palm, but she squirms so violently that the sofa shakes. Paul slots a leg between hers, drawing her body tighter to his, holding her captive as her limbs involuntarily work to get away. </p><p>Then he brings the pad of his thumb to her clit, circling, barely putting pressure on it. </p><p>She screams into his palm.</p><p>Her hips, once gyrating in a preview of how she might look while taking his cock, turn rigid as she stills. Her back arches, her hands scrabbling for Paul’s sinewy forearm, fingernails biting into the freckled skin there. </p><p>“Yes, oh fuck yes, cum <em> all </em>over my fingers, kitten. Want you to make a mess in these little trousers of yours.” </p><p>“Mmmfff!” She digs her teeth into his palm at the same time she crushes his fingers with how forcefully her walls contract and flutter around them. </p><p>She could sob it’s so wickedly good, a buzz of electrical current starting deep in her womb and rolling outward in blinding waves. She feels it everywhere, in her toes, in her fucking <em> teeth, </em>and that’s when her eyes begin to water from sheer pleasure. </p><p>It goes on for a while, too, and Paul strains his hands, trying to keep his fingers moving inside her with one, and the other around her mouth while she bites and screams in ecstasy. </p><p>At last she goes down boneless, body collapsing, spasming with aftershocks. Paul withdraws his hand, cupping her mound to let her rub up against the heel of his palm as she sees fit, soothing herself through it. </p><p>He releases his other hand from around her mouth, allowing her to take big, gulping breaths. Paul feathers kisses along her sweaty hairline, around her ear and down to the nape of her neck. </p><p>Meanwhile, Joey snores <em> loudly. </em> </p><p>Madeleine peeks over the duvet to see his mouth hanging open, drool glistening by the light of the television. </p><p>She begins to shake with silent laughter and Paul follows suit, nosing at the part in her hair. He slowly withdrawals his hand from between her legs and she twists around to face him. </p><p>“Did you enjoy that?” He asks. Madeleine breaks into a beaming smile, her pupils blown out, braid loosened, looking utterly debauched. </p><p>Paul brings his fingers, sticky with the remnants of her orgasm, into his mouth and sucks them clean, groaning and staring her down through slitted eyelids. </p><p>“I want more of this,” he burrs. Madeleine raises an eyebrow, letting her fingers play against his shirt, dragging her nails down his front so they catch against the dips of his muscles. </p><p>“You do?” She teases. “You want to taste me?” </p><p>Paul nods his head, curls rustling. She pulls on a ringlet, watching it bounce, and then lifts the hem of his shirt, pulling it up to his chest. </p><p>“That can be arranged.”  She runs her hand all over his tummy and up to his chest, reveling in the feel of soft, warm skin over strong, toned muscle. “But there’s something I’d like to sample first.” </p><p>She drags her index finger first around his nipples and then down the center of his torso, stopping to circle his belly button and then finally lower, dragging along the hard line of his cock. </p><p>He gasps inwardly, abs clenching as his cock pulses against her errant finger. She giggles, reaching down with her palm to feel his balls drawn in tight before finally gripping his length. </p><p>“Madeleine,” he moans, bucking into her hand. </p><p>“Shh, love,” she tempers him. “Now, the question is, can <em> you </em>be quiet?” </p><p>He groans very softly, deep in his chest. </p><p>“Yes, but...I don’t want to make—I mean, please don’t feel like you—“ </p><p>She places her index finger over his lips. </p><p>“I know, sweet ginger bear.” She shimmies down his body so only her head is above the cover and presses a chaste kiss to the side of his belly button. “Which makes me want to even more.” </p><p>She slips down so her face is level with his crotch, the duvet acting like a hood around her head. “Tell me,” she whispers, lowering the waistband of his joggers only to be smacked in the nose with his hefty, blood ripened cock.</p><p>“Oh shite, I’m sor—“ Madeleine giggles again, rubbing her nose. </p><p>“It’s perfectly alright, dear.” She grasps the base, surrounded by dark orange curls and kisses the wet tip peeking from his foreskin. “So, tell me, did you think about me doing this?” She licks a stripe from base to tip, winking at him. “Be honest.” </p><p>He nods, mouth falling open. </p><p>“Mm.” She licks up and down again and then gently strokes downward to bare the shiny, sensitive head. “I’d wager you’d like me to use my voice while I do this, wouldn’t you?” </p><p>Paul makes a strangled sound. “You’ll wake Joey,” he gasps. </p><p>“Joey can sod off,” she grouses, promptly sucking the head into her mouth. She tongues lightly at his glans before taking him all the way into the back of her throat, and that’s when she looks up at him from under her eyelashes.</p><p>He swallows hard, Adam’s Apple quivering, hands gripping the duvet for dear life. She winks and then,</p><p>she <em> hums. </em></p><p>The thing about it is, Madeleine obviously has a strong diaphragm from all the singing and vocal work she does. </p><p>And Paul gets to experience the fruits of her labour in the most wicked of ways. He can <em> feel </em> every pitch change through the vibrations in his cock, all the way from tip to base, and it’s <em> strong. </em>She can’t exactly breathe through her mouth, so most of it is done through her nostrils, but the effect is no less intense. </p><p>His head falls back into the pillows, mouth parted, but silent as his chest rises and falls rapidly with each panting breath. She starts to bob up and down, bringing her hand to the base and stroking in time. When his legs tense up, stomach muscles visibly clenching, she considers how she might get him to lose control and cum in her mouth. </p><p>
  <em> (He’s much too polite to even consider it and that makes me want it so fucking badly. He’s so shy and reserved, but I’d love for him to be a brute in bed, pulling on my braid, forcing himself deeper so I choke, being greedy. Goodness, I can’t even think about it without getting wet again.)</em>
</p><p>It turns out that scales do the trick. She hums with gusto, pretending like she’s doing warm-ups before scatting. Paul instantly scrabbles for purchase, slapping a hand to her shoulder. </p><p>“Hnngh, Madeleine, I’m—“ </p><p>“Mmhm! Mmhm! Mmmm!”  </p><p>He whimpers and Madeleine reaches out with her free hand, grabbing one of his and placing it on the back of her head, pushing down. </p><p>“Fuck, <em> kitten!” </em>He grits out, hips rising up while he keeps his hand firmly pressed into her hair. He stills, breath harsh and shaky as he spills, a hot, thick geyser that paints her hard palate all the way to her tonsils. </p><p>She swallows what she can, the rest escaping from her lip, and she moans wantonly, rubbing her legs together. </p><p>He’s not yet finished, small dribbles of seed still leaking out when all of a sudden his body jolts upward in shock.</p><p>“KAL?” He yelps. Madeleine squeaks, eyes going wide as she releases him and immediately licks her lips. He shimmies his joggers up and without a second thought they adjust themselves to look like they’d been watching the film all along.  </p><p>“Oof!” says Madeleine when Kal jumps on top of the duvet, panting, whining, and generally freaking out with excitement. </p><p>“Kal!” Henry hisses from the archway. “Down!” Kal whines again, but does as he’s told, zooming around the room instead. </p><p>“What—why, erm, why are you<em>—</em><em>you’re here? </em>” Madeleine stammers, the cover pulled up tight to her chin, trying her damndest not to appear caught out. </p><p>Henry laughs. “This may come as a surprise, but I live here.” He does a double take at Joey. </p><p>“He’s completely hammered, mate,” Paul explains. </p><p>Henry crouches down in front of him and places a hand on his cheek. </p><p>“Joey? Can you hear me?” Henry nearly yells. Joey groans, unable to open his eyes, but somehow able to utter short sentences. </p><p>“Nasally,” he slurs. </p><p>“What?” </p><p>“Mm,” Joey groans “She’s...nasally…” he swallows audibly, smacking his lips. “Tell’er open ‘er throat more.” </p><p>Henry whips his head over to them, brows knitted. “Have either of you got any idea—?”</p><p>“No!” They say quickly and in unison. Madeleine clears her throat.</p><p>“He’s probably referring to the film,” Paul suggests. Madeleine nods in agreement. </p><p>“Erm, but now that you’re here,” she says, “maybe we should—well we planned on sleeping out here with him, but—“</p><p>“If we can get him downstairs, I’ll make sure he’s alright.” Henry stands up slowly with a wince. “Ah, but I’m afraid I can’t be of much help with my hamstring.” </p><p>“Say no more, mate. I’ll get him for you.” Paul slides out from under Madeleine. Her stomach clenches. <em> (Oh dear lord, would Henry care that we’ve defiled his sofa?) </em></p><p>“Joey!” Paul yells. </p><p>“Ah?” </p><p>“Come on, mate. I’ll help you downstairs.” </p><p>“Mmm, ‘s lovely, cheers, pet.” </p><p>Joey’s head lolls again and Paul sighs impatiently. </p><p>“Right, then.” Paul turns to Henry. “There’s no way he’s getting up, mate. I’ll have to carry him over my shoulder.” Henry blanches at the suggestion. </p><p>“On second thought, why don’t I just stay here with him and you two can go on up to bed?”</p><p>Paul makes a dismissive gesture. “Nonsense, I’ve got him” he assures, and with his arms around Joey’s middle he lifts him bodily from the chair and proceeds to stand up straight with him slung over his shoulder. Joey moans as if in pain. </p><p>“Wh—why?” </p><p>“I’m taking you downstairs, remember?”</p><p>“Oh, cheers, pet. ‘S great.” </p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” he jostles Joey, getting a better grip around his legs. “You even think about chundering on me, I'll drop you, got it?” </p><p>“Mmmm.” </p><p>Paul comes to stand next to Henry. “Lead the way, mate,” he says. </p><p>Madeleine watches the three of them leave the room, Paul and Henry chattering about Henry’s upcoming plans for rehabbing his leg, Joey moaning and muttering to himself. Kal bolts over to them, spinning in circles. </p><p>“Kal,” Madeleine calls out. “Come here, love.” He trots up to her, placing his head on her lap while she scratches him behind the ears. </p><p>“You don’t want to be down there with those awful, smelly lads, do you?” He woofs softly. “Yes,” she coos, “you want to come sleep in my bed, hm? Be my blanket?” Kal scampers over to the archway, circling around, waiting for her to follow. She laughs and gathers up the duvet, shutting everything down and being quick about it. </p><p>“Alright, dear,” she announces with a hand poised in the air. “Onward! To glory!” </p><p>
  <em><br/>
Two Weeks Later (Again)...</em>
</p><p>“Wow,” says Joey. “That was...well first of all, I apologize for apparently saying that you were nasally because I’d not sound much different with a cock stuffed in my throat. Jesus, darling, that’s impressive.” </p><p>Madeleine giggles and winks, her cheeks bright and rosy, having finished her wine. </p><p>“Why thank you, darling.”</p><p>“So you slept alone that night?” </p><p>“No! I had Kal.” Joey rolls his eyes.</p><p>“You know what I mean!” She huffs and crosses her arms. </p><p>“Yes, I did. I was tired and a bit put off after Henry showed up. Slept like the dead, though.” </p><p>Joey snorts. “I’ll bet.” There’s a beat of silence and then Joey turns to face her, propping his head up with his arm. “I’m really sorry for ruining your night. I—I’m not sure how I can—”</p><p>“Darling, it’s fine, I promise...especially because you now owe me one hundred fifty quid.” She snickers deviously. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he grumbles.  “So then,” he squeezes her shoulder, “good Christmas?” </p><p>“It was perfect,” she says with conviction before suddenly looking away. She pauses and then, seemingly out of nowhere, her face crumples and she releases a shaky sob, covering her eyes with her hands. </p><p>“Madeleine,” he murmurs in concern. “What on earth—“</p><p>Reaching  into the neck of her jumper, she produces a silver chain, at the bottom of which is a small pendant made to look like a branchy tree. She places the pendant in Joey’s palm; with greater scrutiny he finds a spherical gemstone, dappled green and white, clutched within the roots.</p><p>“It’s tree agate,” she whispers, “inside—“</p><p>“Yggdrasil,” Joey breathes. “Oh, <em> Madeleine.” </em>She wipes her eyes, emitting another sob. “Does he—“</p><p>“No, he doesn’t know.” </p><p>“Then how—“</p><p>All at once, she lifts her jumper and lowers the waist of her skirt so her abdomen is exposed. Below her navel and just above her womb is a tiny tree of life, the black ink thin and faded, the roots and branches artfully tangled, fanning out to create the two halves of a perfect circle. </p><p>Joey’s seen the tattoo many times before, so it’s nothing new to him. </p><p>The dark love bites outlining it are new, however. </p><p>“Did he ask about it?” He wonders. Madeleine shakes her head.</p><p>“He wanted to, especially when he..kissed it and I...well I must have reacted in some way because he told me that he doesn’t want to know unless I’m certain about telling him and then he…well you know.” she traces her index finger around the red-purple bruises. </p><p>“He was so...tender and...it’s like the reaction to it has always been complete indifference, like it doesn’t even exist, that or a demand to know what it means, like they’re <em> entitled </em> to it…but he was...it made me <em> cry, </em>Joey. ” He kisses her temple, wrapping his arms around her middle. She fixes her clothes and grips the pendant in her palm, thumb tracing over the gem. “And then he gave me this. He was going to wait until Christmas morning, but—“</p><p>“It was appropriate.” </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Are you overwhelmed?” She looks down at the pendant again and sighs.  </p><p>“I don’t know. It was just coincidence. He told me he’s got a mate who's a metallurgist and she had this in her shop. When he saw it, he thought of me.” </p><p>“Darling, if it’s too much for you, I mean, if you feel like he’s coming on too strong, you have every right to—“</p><p>“Can you believe I wanted to tell him, Joey?” He blinks.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I want him to know, but I…” she shakes her head at herself, “I was afraid it was too early for that. I mean I’ve no idea what he’ll even think. I don’t…there’s so many things I don’t know and I’m fucking <em> terrified.” </em></p><p>Fresh tears fall down her face. Joey wipes them for her. </p><p>“Gods, I didn’t realize it would be like this. I just wanted you to have a proper shag for Christmas, not turn your life upside down.” </p><p>“What does it tell you,” she murmurs, running her thumb over the pendant again, “that I’ve barely taken this off?” She tucks it back into her jumper, placing a protective hand over her chest. </p><p>“It tells me that you’re scared, but deep down you can’t see yourself doing anything else but trying.” He raises his eyebrows. “Am I right?” She grins bashfully, rubbing her palm over where the pendant lays. </p><p>“We’ve, erm, you know we’ve talked almost every night since we left Henry’s.” She glances away, blushing. “This may come as a surprise to you, but he’s <em> exceptional </em> at phone sex.” Joey rolls his eyes. </p><p>“Oh Christ,” he says, rubbing his hand over his face. “Jesus, Madeleine. Erm, you’re welcome?” She laughs and places her hands behind her head, stretching her legs out in contentment. </p><p>“I told you, dear. You’re a brilliant gift giver!” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you to everyone who regularly commented on this ridiculous story. I told myself it would be short, but of course it ended up being my longest yet. You are the reason I keep on running with it.</p><p>Also, thank you plumvelvet for inventing note taking. *sings "you are the wind beneath my wings"*</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thoughts? Let me know below or on <a href="https://margaretheavesasigh.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> if you feel so inclined.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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